It’s all connected.
The power she’d stolen from Giles had manifested that association as the overwhelming pain of the human condition. Now Willow saw it as life.
Everything - human, demon, animate and inanimate - connected through filaments of existence that went beyond the presence of a mere soul and into the essence of Gaia herself.
She saw as one was severed, ripped asunder by the wood forced betwixt the demon and its mother earth. Loose ends writhing, shrinking and retracting.
Reaching out with her mind, Willow grasped the flailing tips becoming the conduit between them, the power of life flowing through her body and sustaining their vital connection.
An unholy wail spilt the air, and Wesley was catapulted sideward by the power which flooded from the witch, tearing the stake from Spike’s back. To those watching, Spike appeared frozen, surrounded by a halo of light that stretched between him and Willow. The witch herself was glowing; enclosed in a nimbus of power that dwarfed anything she had touched before.
First to recover, Sammy moved quickly to Willow’s side and reached out to her, placing her hands on either side of Willow’s head. Both women blinked slowly in unison, and then Sammy stepped back and nodded, communication complete.
"Angel? His soul."
Angel fumbled in his pocket for the gemstone, which contained Spike’s soul and held it out for her to take. "You - you can save him?" he asked hopefully.
Sammy smiled, the expression gracing her features and making her appear years younger. "I told you my daughter is strong. She will try. For him and for you."
Holding the sapphire firmly between her thumb and forefinger, the shaman approached the light where it entered Spike’s back. At first tentatively then with more conviction, she pushed it forwards until it covered the gaping wound left by the stake’s passage and, as it entered the light, the gem flared infusing the beacon with a blue tint that pulsed as rapidly as the holder’s heartbeat.
A quick glance towards Willow and Sammy thrust the stone as deeply into the wound as her fingers would reach.
Willow sensed the sapphire the moment it left Angel’s pocket. Sammy had told her that it was ‘alive’, gifted by the earth. And sure enough it still maintained its connection to Gaia, something most gemstones lost when they were torn from her body. It was that rudiment of life, the thing that permitted the sapphire to be a vessel for a soul, which Willow hoped to utilise in this complex magic.
In her mind’s eye she mapped the connections, and when Sammy pushed the stone into Spike’s back Willow encouraged it deeper until it nestled within the hole in his heart. Once in place, all she had to do was re-forge the connections, replacing herself as conduit with the sapphire and then weaving its substance tightly into the vampire’s flesh. Natural healing would have to do the bulk of the work but she could certainly give it a kick-start.
She teased apart the threads of life emanating from the gem and bound the loose ends. One to the rapidly withering vampire, the other to the web of life sustained by the mother, recreating the connection that kept Spike’s demon alive.
One final surge of power secured the sapphire in place, ensuring it wouldn’t immediately jostle free and then Willow collapsed, the magic draining from her in a rush of energy.
Angel caught her before she hit the ground and the world faded to black.
**
Buffy caught Spike, the blood from his killing bite staining the neck of her blouse and jacket. But that was irrelevant now. She lowered him face first to the concrete, taking in his countenance, grey and pinched, as if his inevitable disintegration had been prevented by mere moments - which was probably true.
"Please, be holding him still." Sammy had come to kneel by her side and Buffy watched as the shaman ran her hands over Spike’s back, her fingers ghosting the edges of the wound.
"This is not enough." Sammy muttered under her breath. Like any flesh and blood creature Spike’s body was rejecting its alien intruder. The connections Willow had wrought were strong but could easily be severed if the gem came loose. If the vampire moved, or heavens forbid, breathed before he healed, he would die.
"Mr Giles?"
The Watcher joined them, shock written plainly on his face.
"I must perform a binding spell. In order to do this…"
"You need his true name. I know. It’s William Fredrick Bartlett." He paused and frowned at the look on the shaman’s face. "You need more than that?"
"No. It is enough. I was just wondering why you would be choosing to help him now?"
Leaving that thought with him, Sammy turned back to her patient and pressed both hands onto his torso. The air around her started to shimmer as she chanted, coalescing slowly until it snapped into place creating a taut sheathe around Spike’s body.
She sat back on her heels, breathing deeply, and stated, "I have done all I can. The rest is up to him."
***
Faith spared a quick glance for the homeward bound portion of the team before turning her attentions to those who remained.
"I guess we’d better get back inside. Mop up the blood. Count the corpses."
Giles shot a disgusted glare at the light tone of her voice and she shrugged. "Hey, it’s a dirty job but someone’s gotta do it."
He sagged, exhaustion from the fight finally catching up with him. Faith was right and with what they were likely to find inside maybe a light heart was the correct attitude.
"Come on then. We’d best get started." Xander and Gunn turned to accompany him. Wesley didn’t move, his eyes fixed on the retreating figures. Faith frowned and Giles nodded, letting her know he would deal with the traumatised man.
"So. Macho meno. How d’ya play this? Gonna let the little girl go first?"
Their voices disappeared as the doors fell shut behind them and Giles turned his attention to Wesley, moving to stand next to him and putting a hand on his shoulder.
"You did the right thing. He was killing Buffy."
Wesley shook his head. "I wasn’t even thinking, Giles. It could have Angel, even you, and I would have done the same thing." He stared down at the weapons attached to his wrists and started fumbling frantically with the buckles. "These things are dangerous. No control. You need to have total control in a combat situation."
Giles watched, aware that the man’s actions were a displacement activity, a distraction from the near fatal accident. When the contraptions were freed and dropped to the ground, he stated quietly, "There are people inside that need us right now and as Watchers it behoves us to help."
**
Silver ducked back into the tunnel and threw a quick glamour over the entrance. It wouldn’t hold up under intense scrutiny but the people just entering the zoo seemed more intent on rescue than revenge.
Behind her Frank looked terrified, his rat-like features pinched even further with worry. "What - what are we gonna do?" He asked, his voice a-tremble. Everything had fallen apart. Everyone bar them was dead. They were alone. Totally alone.
"We go. Now. Through the tunnels." Her straight ash blonde hair swung around her face as she turned, her delicate pink lips set in a determined line. " We need to get as far away from this place as possible."
Frank nodded, letting his elder sib take charge. He’d learned that beneath her voluptuous feminine curves and flowery hippie clothes, Silver was not a woman to be crossed.
As they got ready to leave the witch paused, obviously thinking deeply about something and then fixed him with an icy blue glare. "This way we get to try again and they find out that payback’s a bitch."
**
"So we’ve got what? Seventeen live ones and nine bodies. That means about thirteen got turned, yeah?" Faith peered after the army ambulance drivers as they carried the final stretcher out to the waiting vehicle.
Giles rubbed his hands over his face as bone deep exhaustion started to take its toll. "Something like that, yes. To be frank I’m surprised so many survived, although the Council will have a job rehabilitating several of them I’m sure."
"Hey, Watcher!" Gunn’s voice sounded through the door. "We’ve got another live one and he wants to have a word."
"Twelve and counting." Faith quipped as Giles left her alone. She shivered in the chill dawn air and looked around suspiciously. What she’d seen inside had been unbelievable, despite Giles’ assurances that it could have been worse. Each of the survivors was covered in bites and drained to the point of deadly lethargy. And that was the good part. Some of the bodies…
Her stomach turned and she dropped to her knees, heaving, as the contents of her stomach spilled up.
**
"Eric Markham." The man’s head shot up at the familiar voice from the doorway.
He staggered to his feet. "Giles. Thank god you came. These - these young men," he waved a outraged hand at Xander and Gunn who were standing a few feet away arms firmly folded across their chests, "refuse to dispose of those vampires."
Only then did Giles notice the other figures in the room, sat in a line against the far wall, two women and a man, or more accurately, two female vampires and a male one. He glanced quizzically at the men who returned it unflinchingly. They obviously had reasons for their actions and weren’t about to discuss them.
"Why don’t you do it, Eric? I’m sure someone would lend you a stake."
Xander held one out and Markham backed away from it, shaking his head and waving his hands. "No. No. Really. As a Head of Department that type of activity is…"
"Inappropriate?" Giles interjected a wave of revulsion at the man’s transparent cowardice sweeping through him. "Tell me, Eric. How exactly did you manage to survive when so many others died?"
Shock registered on Markham’s face before he covered it with a show of bravado. "I fought them off. Concealed myself in the - the," his eyes drifted ceilingward, "air vents." He finished quickly, once he’d assured himself that the centre did, in fact, have them.
"Liar." The words came from one of the female vampires; older with grey peppered dark hair. "He was here all the while, telling us everything that we needed to know. Collaborating."
Giles’ eyebrows climbed and he spun back to Markham, who flinched and then whined, "They threatened to torture me."
"And so you collaborated." Revulsion was rapidly turning to anger for the simpering fool in front of him. Stalking forwards Giles gripped the man by the front of his shirt and pulled him up until they were eye to eye.
When he spoke his voice was cold, devoid of any emotion, though it raged expressively enough in his eyes. "I seem to remember that during my last review you had the effrontery to suggest that my record as a field Watcher was less than exemplary. You may also remember that six years ago I had the unfortunate privilege of being tortured by Angelus. For several hours, for his amusement.
"Off the record, Eric, I intend to see that everyone, and I mean everyone, hears of your traitorous behaviour. And as a result I fondly expect you to be dismissed from the Council forthwith."
***
It was the itch that woke him up. A dead irritating one, right on the sole of his left foot. You know the ones that you always have to take your boots and socks off to get at, the ones that always seem to happen in public.
He remembered once in the twenties when he and Dru were in the Far East, a bug of some sort had burrowed under his skin and Dru had had to take a knife to him to get it out before he chewed his own leg off to stop the itch.
This was a bit like that.
Except he couldn’t move.
Not even to yell for help.
Fuck.
Voices approached from a distance, slowly getting louder until Spike could make out the words and the identities of the speakers.
Angel and the Slayer. Buffy that is, not Faith.
"He’s not going to like it."
"Good thing he can’t move then, ‘cos this is what he needs."
"Surely there must be another way of doing it. Something a little more dignified."
Dignified? That was a joke. After the last few months Spike reckoned dignity was the least of his worries.
"Willow says he can’t be moved and if you think she’s bad enough you can go discuss it with Sammy. She’s scarier."
There was a grunt from Angel that sounded suspiciously like agreement. Guess that undignified thing was gonna happen then.
By now the voices were right beside him and Spike tried to wriggle, breathe, open his eyes, anything that might let them know he was awake and - ITCHY!
Nothing. No matter how much he told his body to move it wasn’t listening. This had to be some form of torture devised by a sadistic madman on a bad day.
"Okay. You hold him; I’ll put the tube in."
Tube! What tube? Nobody was putting anything anywhere!
Large hands grasped his face gently and tipped it back opening his mouth and for a moment Spike was back in the room where Preece had threatened to tear out his fangs. Total vulnerability and helplessness. But these hands were familiar, they were Angel’s and Angel would never hurt him unless he wanted it. Not really.
"Careful. A torn oesophagus hurts."
"Just make sure his head stays still, will ya. And stop worrying. I won’t hurt him."
Much. The ungrateful thought shot through Spike’s mind and he chased it away. That was unworthy of him. Yes, Buffy could be a bitch but she was trying to help.
Buffy?
Fighting Buffy.
Totally loosing control of his demon and biting Buffy.
And then the stake penetrating his back and heart.
He was dead!
Even the binding spell couldn’t prevent the tremor that passed through his body, and Spike heard Angel gasp in surprise.
"He’s awake."
"Yeah? Is he moving ‘cos Willow says that if the gem shifts he’s dusty."
Okay, not dust then. Well, that was pretty obvious being as how he could hear and feel. But how? The Wicca and a gem, Buffy said. Was that the sapphire Sammy had put his soul in? And if so what the hell was it doing inside him and how had it gotten there?
"Spike?" Angel’s quiet warm voice sounded near his ear and all Spike wanted to do was melt into it. "I think you can hear me. You need to feed but we can’t allow you to move. Willow did something with the sapphire you gave me. She used magic to stop you dying when Wesley staked you…"
Wesley! Spike’s mind shrieked. Bastard! How could he? The one human I though gave a flying fuck.
"…Anyway, that’s what happened." Angel continued, oblivious to Spike’s furious internal monologue. "So now we’re gonna to feed you."
"Angel, can we get on with this? Caffeine is waiting, as is sleep."
"Sorry."
The plastic tubing slid down his throat causing an odd bloated feeling. As did the blood that followed. The only reason Spike knew it was blood was the sudden cessation of the hunger pangs that had been racking his system. A few minutes later the tube was removed and his head was rested carefully back on the pillow.
"I’m going stay here for a while. I’ll bring the stuff down with me when I come."
"Sure. Later."
Buffy left the room leaving Angel sitting on the bed. As soon as the door closed, he leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on Spike’s lips. "I’m sorry. Sorry I treated you so badly. Sorry for letting you get staked. Sorry for not believing in you." He chuckled. "Jesus Spike, I’m sorry for so many things if I start apologising now, we’ll still be here come doomsday."
And the best way of apologising is not to do it again - yer daft bugger. God, why was it that he could never get a word in when Angel may actually listen. Frustration, thy name is magic, Spike thought. Plus his foot was itching again.
"I’m gonna go now. Sammy put something in the blood that’ll make you sleep. So you don’t get bored she said." Angel stood up to leave and gave Spike’s hand a quick squeeze. "I’ll be back in a few hours."
Noooo! At least scratch my bloody foot before you go!
***
Downstairs discussions were underway about what to do with the remaining souled vampires. The humans had once again gathered in the common room while the objects of their conversation had been relegated to the cellar, protected against the rising sun and safely under lock and key.
"We can’t just stake them. They have souls."
Dawn’s eyes bugged out at Xander’s assertion. Was this the same man who would have dusted even Angel a few years ago with a song in his heart? Xander defending vampires! Never in a million years did she expect to hear such a thing.
Buffy obviously felt the same way as she spluttered into her coffee. "W-What?"
"They have souls." Xander argued. "Plus they’re like, kinda sad."
"Sad, huh?" Faith gazed at Xander speculatively. "So you wanting to save them wouldn’t have anything to do with the leggy blonde you were giving the hairy eyeball on the way back."
Xander flushed most satisfactorily and Faith grinned up at him. "Chill, Harris. I won’t tell if you don’t."
"Won’t tell what?" Angel asked as he joined them.
"Xander’s blonde vampire crushette." Faith joked and, as Wesley jumped in with a question, everyone missed the quizzical look Angel gave Xander and the colour draining from the young man’s face.
"How is he, Angel? Is he going to be all right?" Anxious guilt coursed through Wesley as he waited for Angel’s reply.
Happy now that Spike would, in fact, be fine, Angel slid an arm round Wesley’s shoulders and pulled him in for a brief hug. "He’s okay, Wes. Stop blaming yourself."
The relief was too much and Wesley felt the dam that had held his emotions in check for months burst. His body sagged against Angel’s and he sobbed uncontrollably on the vampire’s shoulder, not caring that the entire room was witnessing his breakdown.
Giles cleared his throat, attracting the others attention away from the disconcerting sight of Wesley crying on his rapist’s shoulder and said, "We really must discuss the issue of the other vampires. It is grotesquely unfair to leave them incarcerated if we don’t intend to keep them alive.
Angel glared at Giles over Wesley’s head but kept his voice calm when he spoke. "What the hell do you mean, ‘if’ we keep them alive?"
"I’m sorry, Angel. But they have all killed. Tasted human blood. Surely you cannot mean to fight for them after what they have done?"
Gunn interceded from the corner, making his feelings on the subject clear. "I dunno about the tasting human blood bit, but Angel’s killed since he’s had his soul back and we didn’t stake him."
"I couldn’t agree more." Wesley added, lifting his head from Angel’s shoulder. "And of everybody, I think I’m the one who has the most reason to be circumspect."
"Fine." Giles snapped back. "If we’re not going to kill them, what are we going to do? Leave them to rot in the cellar in perpetuity?"
Buffy brought the incipient argument to an end, putting her empty mug on the table and standing up, stretching and yawning. "Nothing. Not now. Now we sleep. Tomorrow we do the chatty thing."
***
The next time Spike woke up his foot still itched and his hunger had given way to nicotine cravings. However that wasn’t the only thing he could feel. Someone had their hands on him and it wasn’t Angel. Silently he cursed his inability to breathe and thus scent who was in the room, though his ears and the warmth of the hands at least told him they were human.
"Some more days and you will be as good as new, Tekin." Sammy’s rich accented voice rolled through his head but all Spike could think was - days?! But I need a cigarette now!
"For now I will release the spell a little."
The shaman muttered under her breath and Spike suddenly found he could open his eyes. Not that it did a lot of good. He was still blind.
Or was he?
Around the edges of his vision were the faintest hints of light and dark, so vague he probably wouldn’t have noticed if his eyes hadn’t been closed for so long. It wasn’t much but it gave him hope that his sight would return sooner rather than later.
"…knew he was awake." Angel’s voice, brimming with love and concern, came from nearby. It was followed by a firm grasp on his hand and to his eternal humiliation Spike felt tears start clawing at the back of his eyes.
"Hey now, don’t cry." A finger caught the lone drop of salt that managed to escape before it reached his ear and the bed dipped with Angel’s weight.
What a complete wuss. Crying like a little girl because he was so fucking relieved. And because Angel cared enough to sit next to him.
The trouble was that after the last few months it felt so bloody good just to have Angel sat next to him and holding his hand. Spike resolved that whatever happened he wasn’t going to let anything come between them again. He’d had enough of kick the Spike. He would be a good vampire, a well-behaved vampire. If necessary he’d join the sodding Evangelical Church down the… well, no. Probably not that, what with the crosses and whatnot. But he was pretty sure he’d made the point to himself.
***
As titular head of the Watcher’s Council, Travers had remained at the hostel and now felt secure enough to start reasserting the rights of the organisation he considered his own.
"I really feel the vampires should be returned to the Council. After all we created them and they are, in effect, our property."
"Property!" Angel choked out.
Gunn exploded. "Shit man. You can’t just own people. And them vamps are more people than you and your goddamn Council."
"Hey, guys. Let’s not edge postal over this, huh?" Xander’s voice of reason rose above the rest. "How’s this. We actually ask the Willy-wanna-bites what they want to do?"
"Sounds good to me." Angel couldn’t believe he was actually agreeing with one of Xander Harris’ ideas, but this one had merits. Lots of merits - and now he was starting to talk like him!
"And what if they decide they wish to go free? Are you prepared to take the risk of letting unrepentant killers walk out of here unsupervised?" Travers sneered.
Moments later he was slammed against the wall as the lid Faith had struggled to keep on her emotions finally blew. "I don’t see as how you’re any different, you piece of shit," she virtually screamed into his face.
Tears streamed from her eyes and the plaster beside Travers’ head exploded as Faith’s fist hammered into it. "You killed Raul, you bastard! You sent your fucking dogs after me and they killed him. He bled out in my arms!"
Her voice spiralled up and up, cracking as it went. "He died! You killed him, you fucking killed him!"
It took the combined strengths of both Buffy and Angel to tear her off Travers and not before Faith had given him a headache he would remember for a long, long time.
While Angel tried to calm Faith down, Buffy shoved the unconscious Watcher at Giles, snarling, "Get him out of here. I don’t wanna see his face again before we leave."
Gunn glared after them, his facial expression as eloquent as his words. "Man, that asshole has class, and all of it bad."
"Jeez, get a grip Gunn. It’s not like anyone was listening to him." Eyes narrowed, Cordelia matched Gunn’s glare toward the door the Watchers had exited through. "The big fascist."
"I wouldn’t be so sure about that. I mean, I don’t know Mr. Giles very well, but I sorta got the feeling last night that he wants all the vampires dead, but if the Council would take them away then I don’t think he’d really object that much."
"Don’t take him too seriously, Fred. Rupert has issues but he’d never let them get in the way of the right thing to do."
Fred shrugged, unconvinced.
"So, we gonna go with the talking to them, or what?"
A general consensus of the room showed Xander’s idea to be the best - and only one - on offer and the gang started working on the practicalities. Individual interviews seemed the best option until Fred pointed out that even serial killers sometimes scored quite high on personality tests and seemed like nice, normal people.
"I’ll tell you what else would be a real good idea." Everyone turned to Xander expectantly. "Waiting until Spike is up. He should be in on this ‘cos he like a - made them and b - has been hanging out with these guys for the last week or so."
Angel groaned and dropped his head into his hands. Two excellent ideas from Harris in the same evening. It had to be a sign of an impending apocalypse.
***
Angel deliberately kicked the riser hard to alert the shaman to his presence and she glanced round and smiled. He’d come up here intent on persuading her to release the binding spell on Spike. If not all the way then at least enough so he could communicate, and they could sort out this mess with the souled vampires.
But first there were the pleasantries. "How is she?" he asked.
Sammy closed the bedroom door before answering. "Sleeping again. She is using the mother’s magic for this task and touching with the mother takes its toll."
Angel cocked his head and stared at the door as if Willow could be seen through it. "Will she be all right? Long term, I mean?"
"Yes. Though I fear it will have made changes to her. There is a blemish on her soul, a scar." She paused. "Tell me, my daughter is very powerful but also very afraid. Is there something she has to fear?"
"Like going all Darth Willow and trying to wipe out life on earth? That sort of something?" Buffy interjected from the wide stairwell where she was coming up to join them.
Sammy looked startled for a moment and then she nodded. "Yes. That would be explaining much. She touched with darkness and that has made her fearful of the light."
"There’s others like her?"
"There is one such with us now." Smiling, the shaman turned to Angel, who frowned.
"Yeah, but Angel’s a vampire and vampires plus light equals a big pile of dust."
"No. The demon’s fear of the light is what is turning a vampire to dust. A soul should quiet the demon. Allow the rational mind to reason against it."
By now Angel was really frowning, confusion writ large on his face, "You’re saying I can walk in the sun?"
"If you are truly believing yourself a man, then yes. There is no magical or physical reason why the sun is burning your body. It is the demon that believes this. Like the way the demon fears water blessed by a Christian priest even when the host it is inhabiting is Jewish."
Buffy sat down heavily, staring up at Sammy in wonder. "You know, I always wondered about that, ‘cos, like why? It doesn’t make any kind of sense."
Sammy settled next to her, addressing them both as she explained.
"When demons are born they remember nothing. It is like an infant sat in front of an empty loom. Nearly everything it knows comes from the human it is occupying. That is the warp and woof. But like all children, buried deep inside, the demon is carrying the knowledge of its own death - and the fear of things that could kill it in its pure form. As it learns and is weaving together the threads of its new life, those fears become part of the pattern. Fear becomes reality, and the things the demon fears can then damage their new body."
"So you’re saying it’s, like, psycho-thingy?"
"Psychosomatic." Angel corrected. "But I’ve been burned by Holy Water that I believed was just plain water. And by sunlight I didn’t realise was there."
"The demon is always seeing. It never sleeps, never rests. This is why your dreams are haunting you, yes? In your dreams the demon speaks to you, tells you what you should be?"
Angel nodded. "Yes. Though less now. I thought it was guilt. My soul telling me how evil I was."
Sammy’s eyes danced with humour. "No, Tekin. Your soul cannot be doing that. It merely allows your humanity to remain in control. Without your soul this conflict is not existing, your humanity is subsumed by the demon."
"How do you know all this?" This wasn’t exactly why they came upstairs but Buffy was fascinated by the turn in the conversation. Why didn’t the Watcher’s Council know this stuff? It was much more interesting than one of Giles’ expositions on how to kill a demon.
"In my home country I studied to help people who had been possessed by demons. I could return their souls but the demon can never be cast out. These people had to be taught how to be human again. How to overcome the demon’s fears and desires that had become part of the pattern of their bodies. Learning to walk in the sun again is much like learning to drink blood other than human."
"The blood’s non-negotiable then." Angel sounded so hopeful, both Buffy and Sammy grinned.
"My apologies, Tekin. The demon is keeping your body alive and it must be having the blood."
Angel’s face fell and Buffy couldn’t resist the quip. "Guess the bloodshakes are still on the menu but on the upside, Angel, you guys can book a holiday in Maui next summer. Oo and windsurfing - so your thing."
***
As far as Giles was concerned Travers had just burned his final boat with his performance downstairs. All his earlier suspicions had been proved correct; the man was an absolute idiot and an arrogant one to boot. Did he really think that he’d get away with this? Obviously he did and Giles was determined to prove him wrong. The Watcher’s Council was an old and honourable institution - granted it was also blinkered and stuffy - but the point remained. What Travers had done was assault, attempted murder - actual murder if Faith could be believed - all in the name of Her Majesty’s government. Not even MI6 got away with this sort of behaviour.
It was time to pull out the big guns.
"Uncle Harry?" Giles queried as the phone was answered by a slightly tremulous voice. Guess the old boy’s been at the bottle again.
"Rupert? My goodness, I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon. Has something else happened? Is your mother well?"
"Mother’s fine, Uncle Harry. I’m actually calling on a business matter."
"Really?" The voice tightened and Giles envisaged his mother’s old paramour sitting up and straightening his tie. "Fire away then, lad."
"It’s Quentin Travers again, sir."
***
Angel wasn’t sure exactly what he’d been expecting but he was fairly certain this wasn’t it.
After much protestation and a twenty-four hour delay, Sammy had released enough of the binding spell to allow the vampire to move his arms and legs. Instead of a kiss, or even the kiss off, Spike had launched himself down the bed and was frantically scratching his foot.
"Umm…?"
Spike glanced up, opened his mouth to speak, realised he couldn’t, frowned and went back to scratching.
"Are you okay?"
That earned Angel the patent eye roll and he grinned a bit sheepishly before handing over the notepad and pen he’d managed to scrounge up from the hostel offices.
Spike snatched it and scrawled something in large untidy letters, thrusting it back when he’d finished.
Angel looked at it, frowned, looked again, and turned it upside down before attempting, "Mesquite bits?"
Another eye roll, some striving to tidy the unintelligible scrawl and everything became clear. "Mosquito bite. You have a mosquito bite on your foot? Does it itch?"
The punch knocked him clear across the room.
***
PC Phillip Glover jangled the keys in his pocket, glanced nervously over at the petite Inspector at his side and then quickly dropped his eyes back to the minute study of his shoes. He really didn’t want to be here and particularly not with Asha.
Their ill fated date a month ago closely followed by her promotion and transfer to Headquarters, had made things sort of awkward between them. Then this morning the order had come down from the Chief Inspector that there was a hush-hush arrest to be made at Grinton Lodge Youth Hostel. Being told to back Asha up on this job, just the two of them, at the place where they had ended up that night was a nightmare come true.
Luckily the door was opened quickly and the policeman found himself face to face with the man he’d moved on from the lay-by a couple of weeks previously.
"Good afternoon, Mr Giles?" Asha moved in, the consummate professional as always.
"Yes. Rupert Giles." The gentleman’s eyes briefly wandered to Glover but left with no flicker of recognition. "Inspector Malek, I presume. I was told you would be coming." He stepped back, leaving the doorway clear. "Please, come in."
They both stepped inside, the gloom of the entrance hall dark after the brightness of the afternoon sun, and stood in silence, a little uncomfortably, Glover turning his helmet round and round in his hands.
"Um…The gentleman in question is upstairs?"
"Yes, indeed."
A male voice shouting followed the sudden slamming of a door on the first floor, and the police officers shared a silent concerned moment before a young man with bleached hair thundered down the stairs towards them. As he reached the bottom step he skidded to a halt and his body language changed abruptly from streetwise thug to what Glover could only describe as dangerous predator.
"Spike." The tone of Mr. Giles’ voice managed to convey warning as well as reassurance and the young man’s head swung round as he focussed in on the speaker. "The police are here because I invited them. There’s no need for you to worry."
The blond head cocked slightly to one side and for a moment Glover could have sworn he saw gold highlights flicker across his blue eyes.
A further set of footsteps sounded and another young man, this one dark haired and more smartly dressed, appeared on the stairs.
"Spike, I’m sorry, I didn’t… Oh. The cops." American.
With the other’s arrival, the blond - Spike - backed off slightly but the already sky-high tension levels managed to climb a little further. As the American came closer Glover noticed a nasty contusion on the right side of his face.
"Are you all right, sir?" He asked and stepped towards him, hand out indicating the bruise.
Immediately Spike blocked his way. And this time there was no mistake. Piercing blue eyes turned golden and catlike, and the man… growled? A shudder ran down the policeman’s spine, as he got the distinct impression he was facing something not entirely human.
"Spike!" Mr. Giles tried to get between them, his voice threatening now but the other man arrived first, wrapping his arms around the blond and pulling him backwards.
"He’s okay, Giles. Just a bit upset. It’s funny actually…" Another growl from Spike. His captor frowned, and continued to drag him backwards. "I guess not, then. Anyway there was a thing and we need to talk. Okay?"
With that he reached one of the rooms off the hallway and reversed through it, kicking the door closed behind them.
Giles immediately turned back to the police and fixed a bright smile on his face, hoping desperately it didn’t look as fake as it felt.
"Lover’s tiff?" He suggested. "Now then, where were we? Ah, yes. If you’ll please follow me, Mr. Travers is upstairs."
**
"What the hell was that?"
Spike staggered backwards, propelled by Angel’s shove to his shoulder. His face wore a mixture of fury and frustration but to his credit, this time he didn’t respond with violence. Instead, he fished in his duster pocket and, when he found what he was looking for, proceeded to write one word on the wall in large red letters.
‘BLIND’
Confused, Angel frowned and asked, "Blind? Who’s blind?"
Spike jammed his thumb into his own chest disgustedly and then sank onto the floor next to the inscription.
"You are? How? I mean, you fought Buffy. How can you be blind?" Angel paused, thinking back to the way Spike had wielded the pen, here on the wall and upstairs in the bedroom. How he’d used both hands; the left holding the pen, his right curled around as if tracing where the letters were going. "You’re blind!"
A ‘well, duh!’ eye roll and a wild gesticulation that cast aspersions on Angel’s sexual habits and Spike was on his feet heading towards the door. Angel followed, concerned for and about the police officers until he saw the vestibule was empty.
Asking ‘Where are you going?’ was pointless, so he trailed along after Spike who explored all the downstairs rooms - empty; pretty much everyone had taken the day off and gone sightseeing, a welcome and much deserved break. Spike paused outside the cellar, cocking his head and listening to the quiet conversations going on below, before giving Angel a quizzical look.
"The survivors." Angel explained. "I didn’t get their names but there’re eight of them, all with souls. The jury’s still out on what we’re going to do with them. It’s one of the reasons we need you."
With a sharp nod, Spike stalked off towards the stairs, his hunt taking him onwards and upwards.
It would have surprised Angel to discover that it wasn’t the police Spike was searching for. He could hear them talking in loud clear voices from the room that held Quentin Travers. It sounded like they were arresting him - and wasn’t that a pleasant surprise. What were they going to pick him up for? Being a twat in charge of a government operation? The jails weren’t big enough to hold that number of people.
The ‘whom’ Spike was actually seeking was the little shaman and his quest was for information. Sammy had the answers to some particularly pressing questions, like what the hell had she done to him with that gem? The way Angel and Giles had behaved suggested he had his soul back but it didn’t feel the same. His demon was quiet, thank god, and the clarity of thought he remembered was back. But the vulnerability, the guilt, that had been all pervasive before, making him breakdown over the stupidest little thing, was gone. He just felt like Spike, not some odd half-formed William/Spike hybrid. It was bloody confusing, disturbing and uncomfortable.
Plus he really wanted this damned binding spell removed so he could have a fag.
**
"No."
No. What the hell did she mean? - No. This wasn’t about choice it was a necessity. He needed to speak ergo he needed to breathe. What was it about this concept the stupid cow found it so hard to understand? Spike resisted the temptation to stamp his foot - too childish even for him - and flung his hands up in despair of ever getting his faculties back.
"The healing is not complete. I can feel…" Sammy braved Spike’s petulant body language and placed a hand over his heart. She shook her head. "Your body still tries to push it out."
"Maybe I can do something. After all I’m the one who put it there." Willow interjected from the bed. She’d passed up the trip in favour of staying with the Sammy to practice some meditation techniques the shaman had suggested would aid her recovery.
She rose and laid her hand next to Sammy’s trying to sense the root of the difficulty. The gem was still in place, surrounded by flesh and… Oh… That was the problem.
Shaking her head thoughtfully, Willow went and sat back down before saying, "It won’t heal. Not like that, Sammy. His body is trying to return to its original form and the sapphire’s getting in the way.
"As I said to him, it tries to push the stone away."
"Yeah, but it doesn’t matter how long we leave it. It’s never going to heal properly. The moment it gets jolted even a little bit his body’s going to try and get rid of it again."
Ignoring Spike’s panicked expression and Angel’s concerned "What, never?" Willow delved into her memories on human anatomy in search of a remedy. How did doctors deal with this? Humans had transplants all the time - and replacement joints. This wasn’t very different really, was it?
The answer probably lay in why Spike’s body reacted to the gemstone when it hadn’t to the chip? That didn’t make sense.
In typical Willow fashion much of her internal dialogue ended up being spoken aloud.
A tap on the shoulder broke into her pondering and she looked up to see Spike making frustrated faces at her. Charades? - so obviously not his game.
What was he doing now? Something round his neck and listening to his chest - Huh? She jumped back a bit when the vampire slid into game face, then realised he was just trying to demonstrate something.
With increasing amusement, Willow, Angel and Sammy sat and watched Spike’s ridiculous attempts at mime. They did offer him a pen and paper at one point - they weren’t completely heartless - but even Angel’s expert eye had been unable to decipher the resultant scrawl. Eventually Spike gave up, did a passable enough impression of Lassie that the others got the message and left the room. They all followed him down the stairway and into the locked basement.
An old wine cellar that was now used for storing everything from gardening equipment to spare furniture, the room resembled a Hammer House set even without its new residents. In the centre of the ceiling swung a bare light bulb, shifted by a non-existent breeze, that cast wavering shadows into the darkest corners and added to the generally creepy atmosphere.
As they descended the stone steps one of the vampires, a young man with copper toned hair and green eyes stood up and held out a hand in greeting.
"Spike, you’re alive. Thank god. How can we help?"
Willow observed the strange meeting from a distance, feeling distinctly uncomfortable in the presence of so many demons. Granted, in theory they all had souls but there seemed to be so much more going on than met the eye.
Spike grasped the proffered arm and pulled the young vampire into a half-embrace, and the two men’s heads ducked in a way that suggested they were scenting each other’s necks. It was strange, animalistic. They exchanged a grin and then Spike stepped back leaving the way clear for Angel.
"I don’t think we were formally introduced. Though my compliments on a battle well fought. Angelus or Angel."
"Francis Marlowe, sir. I’m the elder of the sibs."
Angel greeted the vampire the same way and then briefly explained why Spike was unable to speak. When he’d finished one of the others stepped forward.
"I may be able to shed some light on the matter." He said and Spike perked up visibly at the sound of his Scottish accent. "Jamie MacDonald, General Surgeon and Doctor to this sorry band of misfits." His smile was gentle and distinct laughter lines crinkled the corners of his grey eyes.
He turned back to address one of the others, still concealed in the shadows. "Beryl, do you still have the records you downloaded?"
Willow’s ears pricked up at those magic words. "Records? There are records? Why didn’t you tell me there were records?"
"Yes." An older looking woman emerged from the darkness, her dark hair drawn back into a severe bun and already touched with grey at the temples. In her hand she carried a small leather knapsack which she held out to Willow, recognising that she was the resident computer expert. "You may need the password. It’s Andraste."
They exchanged a shy smile as the bag was handed over and Willow was now struck by how normal they all seemed. It was totally contradictory - animal to human in a single moment.
She decided to take a risk. "Would you like to help? I mean, you did the download and everything and it could be useful to have someone around who knows the filenames and directory structure. Saving time with hacking into them there files."
Beryl turned to Spike, who looked to Angel, who shrugged. "I don’t see why not. Jamie?" He gestured to the doctor. "Do you want to come too?" Then he sighed heavily. "Hell. Why don’t all of you come upstairs? Just - just don’t eat anyone, okay."
***
"My god, will you look at this." Willow regarded the information on the computer screen with increasing disbelief, echoed by Jamie who was reading over her shoulder.
"Are they Ramirez’ files?" He questioned; fascinated by the data they had rescued.
"Hmm? Yeah. Old Initiative files. I’m guessing Spike told Beryl to grab anything that with info on the chips."
Jamie jabbed at the console. "Stop a mo’. What’s that? Open it."
Willow frowned, the directory name looked like a random series of letters and numbers, nothing that would call attention to it specifically. "Why?" She opened it anyway.
"Because ‘H001-H017’ means it’s probably about the chips’ development."
Sure enough the directory opened to reveal a level of subdirectories each referring to a single ‘Hostile’ and the pair were soon immersed in a substantial amount of background reading.
"You know this would go a lot quicker with two machines."
"Yeah but the data’s all on this one and the one with the booking software is so old…"
Jamie interrupted her and bellowed out of the door. "Chris? Got a problem here."
A moment later Chris appeared in the office and on Jamie’s request to "Get a network set-up," proceeded to rip the guts out of the communications system until both computers in the room had access to the data.
After that the research went more quickly, the readers taking documents from each record that suited their areas of expertise.
Willow made the first discovery and squeaked, "Hey, wow, they merged the technology into their flesh, like they did with Adam."
"Adam?"
"Project 314. A human/demon/cyborg hybrid. Very, very nasty. It was a whole big thing a few years ago." She focussed back on her work and started to shake her head as she read. Jamie raised an eyebrow and then coughed meaningfully.
Willow glanced up and blushed. She’d forgotten she was supposed to be sharing her findings. "A whole lotta nothing on how to take the chips out. I don’t think they planned on that for the demons."
Jamie nodded sagely and said, "That makes sense. The records show Ramirez planned to carve the chip out of Spike’s brain. If he had to cut away a lot of tissue then it would have left him blind."
Still unhappy they returned to work, hoping to find something of use. Some clue about the methods used to merge the chips with the demon’s bodies.
Half an hour later Jamie said, somewhat hesitantly, "Willow? Have a look at the director’s summary on Hostile 14. See what you make of it?"
Willow flipped open the file and sat back to read, but not for long. The information it contained was so disturbing she was soon on the edge of her seat and chewing her nails.
The final paragraphs confirmed her suspicions:
‘In conclusion, the deliberate infection of Patient 509/3 with demon classification V-1 has finally demonstrated that functioning human cognition is essential for this demon’s survival. Physically the subject is in as near perfect condition as he was before the accident which resulted in brain death, however mentally there has been no change. The subject is unable to follow any but the most basic instructions (stand, sit, stay), and is considered to have an intelligence quotient in the bottom percentile of measurable responses.
Although disappointing in itself, this does suggest an alternative line of enquiry regarding previous failures in the operation of the implants. We would tentatively suggest that in future all efforts should be made to circumvent the demonic presence in the subject. (As has been argued abnormally high pain tolerance renders that portion of the psyche uncontrollable through typical behavioural modification methods.) Hypothetically, however, containing the generative force behind the demon’s behaviour should prove effective. Therefore it is suggested that future experiments concentrate on this aspect of the subject’s cognition.’
***
Buffy and Dawn strolled arm in arm through the front doors and stopped, stunned into immobility by what they were seeing.
The Slayer’s spider sense skidded off the scale - there were vampires everywhere.
And the entire ground floor of the hostel was in an uproar. Brain-numbingly loud classical music blasted out from the kitchens, shouted conversations ricocheted off the walls, reception was buried under lapfuls of electronic spaghetti where someone had dismantled the telephone system, and spattered up the notice boards was something strongly resembling blood.
Giles and the hostel owner appeared to be having a knock down and drag fight on the stairs while a policewoman tried to separate them and right in the centre of the maelstrom, another police officer and Quentin Travers were engaged in a stand off with Spike and Angel.
Wandering loose through all the chaos were at least five horribly familiar vampires, Spike’s ensouled childer from the centre, last seen locked up snug and tight in the cellar.
Honestly she’s out for a few hours and the whole place had gone to hell.
"Sir, I must warn you. If you refuse to come along we will have to charge you with resisting arrest," the PC was saying to Travers, his voice raised so as to be heard over the racket.
Travers drew himself up to his full if paltry height and answered, "I am not leaving, sir, until these ‘individuals’ assure me that the Council’s property will be returned."
Jeez, he wasn’t still playing that old song was he? Buffy started forward just as Angel caught Spike’s fist - moments before it connected with Travers’ face.
"Buffy! Hey!" Willow appeared out of the office a huge smile on her face and bubbled, "I see you’ve met the rest of the family."
"Willow?" A man’s voice came from behind her. "I think we’ve got it." The witch gave a quick wave to her friend and then vanished back through the door.
Back at the action the WPC was speaking earnestly to the owner who was nursing a rapidly swelling nose. The male cop meanwhile, had insinuated himself between Travers and Spike, who was still being restrained by Angel, and was saying something about a charge of GBH in a loud slow voice as if he were speaking to the mentally subnormal. Which, Buffy giggled silently, considering his audience, wasn’t totally unfair.
"Buffy, thank god you’re here. I came downstairs and those bloody idiots had let all the vampires out." The Slayer peered past the rumpled and panicky Giles into the common room where Sammy was sat chatting to a svelte and sexy female vampire with long straight blonde hair and legs that, unfairly, seemed to reach all the way from her ass to the floor.
Xander, who had come in behind Buffy, strolled nonchalantly over and sat himself on the couch next to her with one of his ‘I’m a schmuck, please bite me’ grins on his face. "Hey, Lara. It is Lara, isn’t it? You probably don’t remember me…"
"Excuse me. Are you Fred Burkle and Charles Gunn?" Moving on from Xander, Buffy turned to see a brunette vampire addressing the couple. "I’m Chris. Willow told me you guys invent things and I guess…Well, there was a problem with the telephone and I was hoping…"
Buffy glanced at Faith hoping for some backup, only to find her sister slayer giving Chris an appreciative once over, until distraction arrived in the form of a tousle headed vampire with the remnants of a tan and anime sized dark brown eyes. "Hey, now you’re a cutie." She held out her hand. "Faith, vampire slayer."
The vampire’s face spilt into a huge boyish grin and he grabbed her hand shaking it enthusiastically. "Nick, vampire." He paused and frowned as if confused by his own words. "Now that sounded so much funnier in me head."
"Ruthy." Buffy’s ears cringed at the patent excited Dawn squeal and when she glanced round her sister was embracing a petite female vampire with a bad perm.
"Mr. Travers’ I really must insist…"
"Rocket Launchers! Oh could I give you a tale or two…"
"Angel! Jamie’s found it. I know what spell to use!"
"Physics?! Wow. I didn’t think girls liked things like…"
"They let you out? They let you out!"
"Buffy? Buffy?!" Giles was shaking her arm, trying to attract her attention and Buffy turned to him, her head spinning and her eyes glazed. "What are you going to do? You can’t just leave them all… lose!"
She blinked at him then said flatly, "I’m going to bed. If anyone eats anyone, come wake me up."
***
The delicate scent of lavender curled from several incense burners around the room and the light levels dipped suddenly as Sammy switched off the overhead fitting leaving candles their only source of illumination.
Their research had paid off - big time. Unfortunately, the Initiative had used science, not magics, for the operation and there was nothing in the files about exactly how they had merged the chips into the demon’s flesh. They had to assume that the knowledge was lost, buried under concrete with the rest of their hideous experiments. So Willow was thrown back on guesswork and intuition to make this work. Reluctantly they had concluded that magical alchemy was their best shot.
Such transmutations were never easy and this one called for a level of delicacy that had the power to terrify her. If she got this wrong, Spike would be dust. Pulling on the strength of the mother, Willow focussed all her attention on the cool body beneath her, and drove her magical sense below its preternaturally still surface.
There lay the gem, unmoved from before, and Willow examined it closely, mapping its essence until she felt her level of understanding reached bone deep. Turning to the flesh that surrounded it, she did the same thing and then compared the two.
One - aluminium oxide with tiny amounts of iron and chrome. The second - carbon, hydrogen, oxygen and a motley mixture of other elements. Both suffused with the magic of life, but each intrinsically alien to the other.
Somehow she had to create a living interface between the two.
The basic chemicals were out. Anything she did with them would simply result in gas - bringing whole new meanings to heartburn.
Releasing aluminium into Spike’s body was likewise a bad idea. Willow had no idea if it would have the same effect on a vampire as it did on a human but she wasn’t willing to risk a nasty case of dementia in her patient.
The obvious element both had in common was iron. And if she combined that with oxygen…
A giggle escaped from the witch’s lips. She was the Wizard of Oz and by the time she’d finished the tin man would have a rusty heart.
Twenty minutes later, sweating and breathing heavily, her pulse pounding, Willow sat back and said, "Sammy, release the binding spell."
Spike inhaled deeply and the connection held firm.
Willow relaxed. The experiment had worked.
**
"So, great job on the heart. Any chance you could anything about the eyes, pet?"
Spike was fumbling with his clothes while she and Sammy tidied the room, but Willow took the time to shoot an exasperated glance at her patient who’d bounced back with all the demanding enthusiasm she’d learned to expect from him. "It’s not your eyes, Spike, it’s your brain and no. I’m so far from knowing how to fix that, neurology is not my subject of choice.
She extinguished a candle and then paused, her expression becoming suspicious. "In fact, I still don’t get how you could fight Buffy and still claim to be blind. How can that be? With the fighting and the biting and you not being dusty at the end?"
Spike shrugged on his duster. "Don’t have a bloody clue. Some things I can see fine, I just don’t know I’m seeing them. Like fighting Buffy. I ‘knew’ where she was and everything, so fighting her wasn’t hard. But I measured me length in front of the Bit in the centre."
"The demon never sleeps."
"And that would be a huh?"
The shaman perched on a chair and gestured for the others to sit as well. Willow tugged Spike down next to her onto the bed when it became apparent he hadn’t noticed.
"You are understanding I think, better than Angel, how you are with your demon?" Sammy addressed her question to the vampire.
"Dunno if I’d go that far. But I reckon I understand my demon."
"When you fight your demon is strong, yes? Even with your soul. Also when you are angry."
"Yeah. And?"
"But around humans you are keeping tight control of him."
Spike opened his mouth to answer but Willow jumped in. "Oh, I think I understand. You’re saying that the demon can see but the human bits can’t. So when the demon’s in control, like when Spike’s fighting or mad, then he can see. Around Dawnie he was being careful so he was blind, hence falling over and other bad things."
"Ha. So how come I can’t see what I’m seeing." The vampire lounged smugly back against the headboard.
Willow refused to be fazed. She was on an expositionary run and not even Spike was going to throw her off her stride. "Because the demon doesn’t use your brain to do the thinking. It’s dead. No circulation, no oxygen, ergo brain dead. So it doesn’t matter if it’s damaged. It uses magic." She finished with a flourish, matching his satisfied expression.
"Not dead. Stopped."
"Huh?"
"His brain is not dead, just stopped. It cannot change, cannot be growing new connections. It stopped when he died and is staying the same way forever. All it can do is heal to how it was before."
"Fine. So how did the sodding chip work? ‘Cos that was in my brain."
Sammy shrugged, "That I am not knowing. I have not studied your sciences."
Willow took a deep breath and then started speaking. "When the Initiative started studying demons they found a coupla things about them. Well, actually they found out tons, but two really, really important things. One, it was impossible to control demons with pain. They either enjoy it or get used to it.
"So, they were about to give up on the whole idea until someone found out that the demon needs human ideas to operate. They did something horrible, turning someone who was brain damaged. No memories, no cognitive processing, just brain stem activity. I think they thought the demon might wake them up and, you know, he’d be a productive member of society again, but it didn’t work. Without a personality to build on, the demon can’t really do anything.
"So - so when they designed the chips, they aimed them at that part, the human part. Spike, it - it was made to control the nastier bits of William."
The silence that followed Willow’s quiet statement was only broken by Spike’s equally muted "Oh."
"Hi. All fixed up?" Angel’s sudden appearance at the door surprised them all.
Spike tried to shift the gloom that had settled over him with Willow’s words and answered brightly. "Err, yeah. How’s the riot down below?"
"Finally sorted out. You know I didn’t think anyone could be as annoying as you were as a fledgling, but that lot come damned close." Mistaking the tense atmosphere for exhaustion, Angel decided to continue teasing. "Jesus, he was a pain in the ass. Brilliant imagination, and absolutely no idea about execution. The number of times I had to…"
He was pushed aside by Spike barging from the room and when he went to follow Willow called out, "Angel, don’t. He just found out some pretty bad stuff."
***
Warmth was a good thing, Buffy decided as she wrapped her hands tightly around the mug of hot chocolate and inhaled its sweet, cocoa laden aroma. Beside her well-padded comfy chair the open fire crackled merrily throwing out waves of heat that threatened to scorch her legs if she uncurled them.
To everyone’s relief, peace had been restored to the hostel.
Giles had contacted the Council and had somehow managed to persuade them to part with a substantial chunk of cash, which he had promised to the hostel owner as compensation for the damages and lost business.
Angel had gotten the fledges under control and fed, and the basement now resembled a dormitory rather than a storeroom. A final decision about their future would be made tomorrow.
Lastly, the cops had taken Travers into custody and Giles was, at this moment, on the phone finding out what the charges would be. All this had convinced her it was safe to return downstairs after her flight from the chaos of earlier.
"Buffy? Are you asleep?"
"Nope. Wide awakey. How’d it go? Is our Mr. Travers going to be suitably punished?"
Giles’ face broke into a wicked grin, his eyes dancing in the firelight. "For now he’s being held on charges of gross indecency but Uncle Harry’s working on it."
Buffy’s eyebrows and lips quirked in simultaneous amusement. "Uncle Harry? And who came up with that charge?"
"It’s traditional, and completely believable given his previous record. And Uncle Harry is my mother’s old boyfriend. He’s a Permanent and Private Secretary in the Department for Constitutional Affairs, the old Lord Chancellor’s Office."
Off Buffy’s confusion Giles thought for a moment and then clarified, "A high ranking official in, what I suppose would be the English equivalent of the Chief Justice’s Office. Anyway, he and Travers have been butting heads for years. He was just waiting for an opportunity to bring him down. By the end of the week the Council will have elected a new Head Watcher."
"Because of lewdness?"
If possible, Giles’ grin got wider. "Actually no. There may have been mention of Attempted Murder and Treason. When Uncle Harry throws the book it tends to hit accurately and hard."
With that they both abandoned any pretence at seriousness and howled with unrestrained laughter. Sometimes life could be really good.
***
"Sod off."
Ignoring the comment, Angel joined Spike anyway, leaning back against the fence and gazing up at the stars. The clouds of the last few days had finally cleared and the night was bright and sharp.
They stood quietly listening to the sheep bleat their protestations out into the night, until Spike retrieved his cigarettes from his pocket.
"Can I have one of those?" Angel asked. It was a good a way as any to start a conversation.
Spike didn’t answer. He simply raised a quizzical eyebrow and offered the packet over.
The strong breeze sweeping in over the moors made lighting them difficult and as Angel bent over the match cupped between Spike’s hands, he paused and said, "I know what she told you and if you want to talk about it, I’m here." Then his inhaled deeply and stood up, considering the lit end in preference to Spike’s face.
"Nothing to talk about, really. Nothing I didn’t already know."
Dragging his eyes away from the cigarette to his childe, Angel found he was staring at a black clad back bristling with contained tension.
"And that’s what hurts, isn’t it?" There was no answer, so Angel pressed on. "Years ago I told Buffy that it wasn’t the monster in me that needed killing, it was the man. I guess everyone has enough of a monster inside them to make that true. It’s just something you’ve got to live with."
Spike shrugged and silence reigned again for several minutes, then he sighed deeply. "You’re right. I know this. But it’s been easier to blame you for what I became." He turned and fixed Angel with a slightly out of focus stare. "And I did, you know. Blame you. And Darla and Dru. Even Buffy, for what I was. What I am. What we are. Dangerous.
"They don’t see it, do they? They think the souls make us housebroken - human. But they don’t. Not really. Everyday around them is a little bit of torture wrapped up in a little bit of heaven. Smelling them and hearing them. It drives us slowly insane the sounds and scents that pour off their warm human bodies. Knowing it’s something you can never have. Never be a monster, never be a man.
"I got my soul so I’d know what - who I was and I’m still no closer to knowing and now…?"
The silence wrapped round them again and Angel held his metaphorical breath wondering if Spike was going to say it. He did.
"Sometimes I just wish it was gone, you know." There was a pause and Spike hung his head, as if ashamed of the idea. "It used to be so much easier, less complicated. But then they took it away and guess what? Still not a monster, still not a man. Can’t go back, can’t go forward. Just stuck in limbo for an eternity."
Angel moved in closer and slid his arms round Spike’s waist, hands tucking inside the duster and pulled him back against his chest.
"But never alone, Spike. Remember that. You’re never alone."
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