Rating: Still PG. I promise naughty bits are on their way...
Disclaimer: Joss owns most. Kendra owns Siobhan, I own Devyn. Not sure who owns Duncan these days.. think it’s Greg Widen, but since his appearance is filed under the “don’t blink or you’ll miss it” category, I’m not terribly concerned. “Live To Tell” is written by Madonna and Pat Leonard; BOC owns “Don’t Fear The Reaper.”
Distribution: My site- The Dragon’s Cave ( http://www.angelfire.com/tv2/firedrake ). Kendra’s sites, of course. Anyone who has my stuff and/or the Forever Series. Everyone else, please ask.
Author’s Notes: This is a continuation of the Forever Series, originally penned by Kendra A. Any and all mistakes are mine, since this isn’t beta’d. :::: indicates thoughts, * indicates emphasis. If you see a sentence in small letters preceded by …, that’s a direct quote from Kendra’s sections.
Dedication: To Kendra, of course, who was not only kind enough to let me take a stab at this, but who is an exceptional author.
Feedback: Need. More. Feedback.
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Devyn moved out the night Spike moved in, choosing to create a sleeping area on the roof rather than share quarters with the vampire. She had begged off helping with the prophecy, claiming that she wasn’t very good with research but would ask her magical connections if they knew anything. Willow was disappointed in her new friend’s self-imposed distance, but knew better than to test the stubbornness factor of a fellow redhead.
The AI team’s research proved to be nearly as fruitless as the Sunnydale group’s. In deference to Angel’s discomfort with having Spike around, Willow had thrown herself headlong into the project. She set up a wipe board in the office area, each line of the prophecy written out with notes, correlations, and potential interpretations written out in her neat script. A week passed, and the only result was the increasingly frayed nerves of the inhabitants of the hotel.
Willow stood in front of the board, writing in the latest round of notes her research had uncovered. Stepping back, she re-read the prophecy for the umpteenth time.
When Flames join the Darkness and the Light
When the Last Lovers reunite
When the Lost Sister can not be found
Through love the souls and demons are bound
The star’s curse shall be undone
The Twelve shall again become One
She sighed. ::I don’t know why this is such a big deal. It doesn’t sound nearly as doom-and-gloom as Giles is making it out to be… after all, not many of our prophecies actually contain the word “love” unless it’s preceded by “destruction of.” And curses being undone? Usually a big thumbs-up there. Well, unless you’re talking about the Romani, who have a really whacked sense of humor when it comes to curses..::
She was proud to say that she only jumped slightly when she noticed Spike’s sudden presence behind her.
“Tick tock, Red. You got that thing figured out yet, or are we taking the trek back to the home stomping grounds?”
Willow snorted, refusing to play Spike’s game. She erased a few more words from the board, and in the very corner wrote a message to herself to check out Romani curses.
“You can’t run away from your problems forever, you know.”
“I’m not running away, Spike.” He had to strain to hear her next words. “Besides, it’s not like things are any easier here.”
He was about to pounce on this new revelation, but was prevented when she threw down the marker in her hand.
“That’s it. We don’t have a choice. We have only one option left.” She stormed out, calling for the rest of the AI team and telling them to get their coats.
Half an hour later found them arguing amongst themselves at a small table. As the owner of the establishment wound his way through the crowd toward him, choruses of “No, you do it” “Uh-uh, you” and “I think not” reached his ears.
“Aw, now now, chitlins. No need to fight. You can all have a chance at stardom tonight.” Several pairs of eyes turned toward him at once. “Woah! Slow down with the visual daggers. Why don’t we get drinks all around, then you can draw straws, hmmm? O pos for the blood boys, and what can I get for the lovely.. Dev! Bubbalah! You haven’t changed a bit!”
The redhead granted the green-skinned demon a half-smile. “Hi Lorne. How are you?”
“Oh, you know. Same old, same old.” He pulled over an extra chair, ignoring Spike’s low growl as he nudged the vampire aside and sat next to the redhead. “You’ll be singing tonight, won’t you?”
“I don’t think so…”
“Oh, Devyn, it’s been years! Grace us with a number.”
“Lorne, for once I know exactly what the future holds. Surely you’d rather hear from someone else.”
The Host’s face paled. “Clearly you’ve never heard Angel sing. Come on, for old time’s sake.” He eyed the other occupants of the table. “Dev here sings like a nightingale.”
“That’s been gargling with nails..”
“Not true, and you know it. Now, I am going to go up there and plug in your favorite selection, and you’re going to sing your little heart out, and I’m not taking no for an answer. Then you can tell me all about how you came to be involved with this motley little crew.”
Devyn sighed, and acquiesced, as the others silently rejoiced that they wouldn’t be subjected to another of Angel’s Barry Manilow impressions. As Lorne moved toward the stage, Devyn glared at Willow.
“You could’ve helped me out there.” Willow just shrugged and gave an apologetic smile. Mumbling under her breath, the older redhead followed the path Lorne had taken.
Devyn settled uncomfortably on the stool at the front of the stage, grabbing the proffered microphone from Lorne before taking several deep, calming breaths. Thankfully The Host had dimmed the club lights so she would not have to look out at her friends sitting at their table, but she still kept her eyes closed as her soft, melodic voice drifted up to accompany the familiar music.
I have a tale to tell
Sometimes it gets so hard to hide it well
Her voice grew stronger as her heart opened up to the long-forgotten lyrics. Had it really been nearly twenty years since the last time she’d sang this for Lorne? She couldn’t help the sudden overwhelming sensation of being very, very old.
If I ran away, I'd never have the strength
To go very far
How would they hear the beating of my heart
Will it grow cold
The secret that I hide, will I grow old
How will they hear
When will they learn
How will they know?
Caritas was hushed as Devyn lay the microphone down and wove her way through the crowd to join Lorne at the bar. She deliberately steered clear of the table where her friends sat, able to envision all too well their criticism of her performance. Because no matter what Lorne or anyone else said, they would never undo a lifetime of learning at the hands of her family that she was, in a word, useless. She thumped down next to Lorne, scowling at his toothy grin.
“I hate you, you know.”
“But sweetie, it’s been ages since I heard that silky voice of yours. I didn’t have a choice.”
“Lorne, I didn’t buy that story last time, and I’m not gonna-“
“Let’s not have that argument again, Dev. Don’t you want to know what I saw?”
“Only if it’s something I don’t know.”
>From his chair several tables away, Spike struggled hear what Devyn and Lorne were discussing. ::Looks pretty heated:: he thought to himself, but could only catch a few words here and there, certainly not enough to provide him any satisfaction. He started slightly when Devyn and Lorne reappeared at the table. ::And there we go.. Red and the cheerleader pounce on the chit, prattling on about how well she’d done, while the Great Pouf pounces on the demon, asking about the prophecy. How predictable. Just get to the point so we can get out of here.:: Spike was so involved with his sulking that he barely noticed what was said next.
“Well, Angelcakes, unfortunately I couldn’t get much out of Dev here; she’s got way too much going on aside from your pesky little prophecy. I’m going to need a little more… How about you Blondie? Care to give the stage a whirl?”
“I don’t sing, pouf.”
“Everyone sings, Spikey. Come on.. I’ve got just the selection for you.” No sooner were the words out of the Host’s mouth than much to his horror Spike found himself following Lorne to the dimly lit stage, where a microphone was thrust into his hand. Sighing needlessly, Spike listened to the opening strains of the music, quickly identifying it. He couldn’t help his smirk; damn if the demon didn’t have a sense of humor. Spike tossed back the rest of his drink and began to sing.
All our times have come
Here but now they're gone
Seasons don't fear the reaper
Nor do the wind, the sun or the rain… we can be like they are
Come on baby… don't fear the reaper
Baby take my hand… don't fear the reaper
We'll be able to fly… don't fear the reaper
Baby I'm your man...
He easily sought out the table where the others were sitting, preening a bit as he noticed the women were visibly taken aback by his singing. Didn’t know he was a vampire of depth, apparently. He’d show them..
***********
“I can’t believe that’s all we got. What a waste of time. Worse than a waste of time. What kind of demon can’t figure out a little prophecy? Psychic my a-“
“Spike! Enough. We all know what your opinion is. Lorne never said he’d have all the answers.” Willow was gently cradling her head, which was throbbing from a combination of alcohol and non-stop Spike-rant. The others had wisely dispersed as soon as they got back to the hotel, leaving her the sole target of the vampire’s frustration. “He’s given us enough to work with, though, some new stuff. And at least we know it’s not going to be all hell-beasty. So quit whining, and if you’re not going to help out, just find someone else to annoy.”
Spike’s mouth hardened into a thin line, his cheekbones standing in stark relief. “Right, then. I know when I’m not wanted. Just be off to bed, then. Bloody ungrateful chit, thinks I have nothing better to do than...”
The sound of Spike’s continuing grumbles drifted down to the witch’s ears as he stomped up the stairs to his bedroom. Willow simply sighed and turned another page in her book.
***********
The next night found Cordelia pulling another bag of buttered popcorn from the microwave when Spike wandered into the kitchen. Both mumbled hello as they went about their tasks; Cordelia pulling out bowls and Spike pouring blood into a coffee cup.
Spike put the mug into the microwave and turned to watch Cordelia fill several snack bowls with the popcorn, setting them and an additional bowl full of fruit onto a tray. Putting two and two together, Spike groaned. “Movie night already? What am I being subjected to in the name of art this time? Just tell me the witch hasn’t picked out more of her subtitled crap.”
Cordy pulled several cans of soda from the fridge, squeezing them onto the tray beside glasses of ice. “Willow didn’t pick out the movies, so you’re safe. Tonight is warm fuzzy animal night.”
Spike made a face. “I think I have other plans.”
“Don’t worry, blondie. It’s Devyn’s version of warm fuzzy animals- ‘Watership Down,’ ‘The Plague Dogs,’ and ‘Old Yeller.’ Your reputation will remain intact.”
The vampire’s scarred eyebrow quirked slightly. “Well then. As long as there’s killin’, I guess I can stay. Just hope none of you chits get all weepy-eyed.”
The beeping of the microwave almost drowned out the cheerleader’s snort of derision as she walked out of the kitchen.
Several hours later, Spike looked over at the clump of girls on the floor. Cordelia and Willow lay in the middle of a pile of pillows, blankets, kleenexes and popcorn kernels, curled close together as their chests rose and fell in unison. A few feet away Devyn lay in a tight ball, back against the corner of the room and one hand resting on the outline of the knife hidden in the leg of her pajama pants, the picture of paranoia. Spike frowned, focusing a little closer. The cheerleader and the witch were clearly asleep, their heartbeats and breathing slow and regular. Devyn, however, he wasn’t as sure about; he could swear her eyes were slightly open, but the consistency of her breathing, when he could finally detect it, signaled that she was indeed asleep. ::Safe as houses.:: Spike knocked back the last of the mug of blood he’d been nursing, grimacing at its chill, congealed texture, and eyed his grandsire who sat at the other end of the couch.
“So, Peaches, what’s the story with you and the witch?”
Angel reluctantly brought his attention over to the blonde vampire. Leave it to Spike to interrupt a perfectly good brood; he’d already spent most of the evening focused more on said witch than any of the movies they’d watched. “She has a name, Spike. It’s not Red, or pet, or luv, or witch, or Scooby.”
Spike rolled his eyes. “Don’t avoid the topic, Angelus.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Oh, please! It’s obvious, even though we’re talking about the self-titled King of Cryptic. You have the hots for the wit.. Willow.”
Angel’s jaw clenched. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Spike.” But his eyes were drawn back to the quietly snoring redhead on the floor, and his features softened as he gazed at her.
Spike snorted in response, effectively ruining Angel’s “moment.” Turning back to the younger vampire, Angel grinned maliciously. “And what about you, Spike my boy? Got a little crush of your own?”
Spike’s eyes flashed amber, and he snarled at his grandsire. “Not true.”
“Come on, there’s no shame in it. I’ll share mine if you share yours.”
Spike turned away, deliberately staring at the TV. “Bite me, Pouf.”
Angel’s demon pushed forward, and he leaned in closely, baring his fangs. “Where do you want it, William?”
Shoving Angel back to his side of the couch, Spike growled low in his throat and stalked from the living room, ignoring the sound of laughter following him.