"Teardrop on the fire of a Confession, Fearless on my breath."
Spike steared the DeSoto on to the highway and wondered exactly what
he was
going to say when he arrived in Los Angeles.
/Yeah, Hi. Sorry about that whole torture bit. Mind if I crash here for awhile?/
Spike frowned. Sunnydale had become a bit dangerous for him now that
he was
essentially out of action hunting wise, and while he had been allowed
to
stay with the Watcher, the novelty of being chained in a bathtub was
starting to wear off. He really didn't know where else to go except
to his
Sire.
Of course that idea didn't hold much more appeal than remaining with
the
Slayer and her friends. He was more likely to find himself on the wrong
end
of a stake than find Angel willing to help him.
/Angelus, please forgive me. Fix my head and make it work properly.
I'll
give your friends a running start before I kill them./
He reached into the pocket of his duster for a cigarette. He inhaled
the
smoke slowly, trying to clear his brain of all the thoughts that jumbled
and collided there. His memories of Angelus and Angel warring with
each
other for dominance. Perhaps he was lucky that the poof had his soul
back.
Angelus would have laughed at the pain his Childe was experiencing.
The black ribbon of highway stretched out in front of him, the end
swallowed by the inky darkness of the night. The car drove as if by
instinct alone it knew where it was going. The amber glow of Spike's
cigarette illuminated his face slightly as he closed his eyes for a
minute
just to think.
He was afraid and he hated the feeling. He was afraid to face his Sire,
afraid of not being a Killer, afraid of being alone. He felt powerless
against the force that had infiltrated his own mind, a chip that kept
him
from his demon. What was he now with no soul and his baser instincts
forced
into submission by a bit of mechanical tomfoolery?
"Nothing," he sighed.
Perhaps if he brought a bottle of hair gel as a peace offering... /Here's
a
bottle of that Nancy boy hair gel you so adore, so please forget that
I had
someone torture you to within an inch of your life and take care of
me./
That probably wasn't going to make Angel anymore sympathetic to his
plight.
The lights of LA soon surrounded him as he made his way to to familiar
building that housed Angel Investigations. He parked his car and sat
there
for a minute trying to comeup with a plan. Of course planning had never
been his strong suit. He was always more the run in, guns blazing,
take no
prisoners type.
Finally he got out of the car and wandered into the building. The lights
were on in the office. He listened briefly for the heartbeats of that
Irish
git or the girl. Hearing none he squared he shoulders and refused to
feel
fear as he knocked.
The door opened slowly and soon the angry face of Angel stared out at him.
"What do you want?"
"What Peaches you aren't happy to see me?"
Angel started to close the door, but Spike stopped it.
"Wait. Please. I need your help." The words felt foreign on his tongue.
He
met Angel's eyes briefly before casting his gaze down to the toes of
his
boots.
"What is it? Buffy..."
"No. She's fine. They're all fine. I need your help...Sire."
Angel's normally stoic face betrayed the slight internal conflict he
felt.
On the one hand it would just as easy to slam to door and go back to
brooding, but as he looked down at his Childe he felt it. Fear. Spike
was
trying his best to hide it but it was still there.
With a small sigh he opened the door completely. "Come in Spike."