Coming Of Age

By Medea

Chapter Three

Spike returned to Los Angeles soon after Willow left him in Baghdad.

It was the first time that he'd felt truly dead in a long time. He was heartsick. The only thing that kept him going was the fact that he could feel her through the bond she had created.

When he walked into the lobby of the Hyperion, he was greeted by a somber, withdrawn shadow of the sire he'd seen just five years earlier. Even with the bright flash of hope Spike detected in Angel's eyes -- hope that Spike knew would soon be dashed -- he looked like the haunted, solitary vampire Spike had tormented years ago in Sunnydale. The blond vampire could only hope he himself wouldn't look that bad after five years without Willow.

"You look bloody awful, Peaches," Spike remarked with a slight lift of the eyebrow.

"Nice to see you, too, Spike," Angel retorted wearily. Then, his tone of voice lightened ever so subtly, and his body tensed in anticipation, as he asked, "So, is Willow with you?"

All it took was Spike's lowered eyes and the mild clench of his jaw, and Angel had his answer. When Spike glanced back to his sire, as he'd expected, the small spark of hope in those deep brown eyes had died out.

"She felt the need to wander a bit. Told her I'd come looking for her if she wasn't back in five years," was all Spike said.

Angel nodded, but said nothing for a few moments. The silence made Spike uncomfortable. The past few nights had been tough enough, getting used to not having Willow beside him; he damned well didn't need the Poof's penchant for brooding to make it even worse.

Impatiently, Spike muttered, "So, got anything to drink around 'ere, mate?"

Rather than answering the question, Angel posed one of his own. "How about you? Are you just wandering through?"

Spike let out a feeble chuckle and exchanged a knowing look with his sire. Downright pathetic, they were. But where better to turn than each other?

"Had enough of traveling for now," Spike remarked. "Thought I'd stick around and sponge off the old man for a while."

Angel's mouth twisted into a wry, half-smile and he shook his head. Nobody would ever accuse Spike of being sentimental, that much was certain. However, Angel couldn't bring himself to continue their gruff verbal sparring. In truth, he'd missed his childe as much as he'd missed Willow.

"It will be good to have you here again," Angel offered with heartfelt sincerity.

Sire and childe appraised each other silently for a moment. Then, Spike advanced slowly toward Angel, with a sinful gleam in his eyes.

"Who says you're gonna have me? Might 'ave to get me drunk first..." Spike taunted, feigning disinterest. He paused briefly and then dashed toward the stairs.

A pleased growl rumbled deep in Angel's chest and, grinning, he started after his fleeing childe, quite willing to give chase.

*****

And so Spike settled back in at the Hyperion. Begrudgingly, Angel's co-workers were forced to admit that they were glad he was back, since his return succeeded in breathing a little life into the dark vampire. So to speak.

But there was a persistent emptiness inside Angel that not even Spike could reach; a hollow chamber that echoed with memories of a vibrant, gentle companion and all they'd shared with each other.

When the subtle gloom that lingered around Angel threatened to infect Spike, the blond vampire decided he'd better find a distraction fast. He'd be damned if he was going to take up the stoic, angst-ridden routine like dear old dad.

It was as good a time as any, he decided, to go check up on the little brat, Megan.

After some extended cursing at the DeSoto, which had sat in a garage near the Hyperion during his absence and groaned its protest when he tried to start it, Spike finally managed to get the old behemoth running. In short order he was on the road to Sunnydale.

He wondered if Megan would sense that it was him, or if he'd been gone so long that her Slayer signals would merely register a vampire like any other.

When Spike finally rolled into town and parked the car, it didn't take him long to find her. Familiar with all of the Hellmouth's most-likely spots for vampire activity, he soon tracked the Slayer down in a cemetery on the south side of town. Rather than approach her right away, Spike chose to follow in the shadows, observing her as she patrolled.

She was no longer the inexperienced little girl he'd shoved around five years ago. And, he noted, she'd shaped up *quite* nicely.

Megan ambled leisurely among the graves, but her relaxed stride was deceptive. Spike discerned with an appreciative glance how alert she was. Her limbs were poised for the fight and her eyes scanned the terrain with confidence. Now sixteen, she was far more the predator than Buffy had been when Spike had first encountered her -- but then Buffy hadn't been thrust into her calling at age eleven.

A scrawny-looking vampire emerged from behind a tree and snarled at Megan. Even from a distance, Spike caught the scent of fresh earth on him. A fledgling -- and none too bright, from the look of him. Spike moved closer to enjoy the show. It was brief; the fledge barely got in a few punches before Megan thrust a stake between his ribs and reduced him to dust. Not bad.

"Still leaving your left flank open when you lunge, I see. Better work on that, or some nasty thing'll get a piece of you."

Almost casually, Megan turned toward the sound of his voice. Spike saw the anticipation in her eyes. Yet with the restraint of a skilled fighter, she held back, sizing him up.

In a calm, neutral voice she said, "I wondered who was following me."

"Wondered? You mean you'd forgotten me, and you let any old vamp tail you through the tombstones?" Spike pouted, feigning wounded pride.

A hint of a smile twitched at Megan's lips, but she remained cautious. "I didn't forget you, Spike. I thought it might be you...So...have you come for me?"

"Ooooh, does the little Slayer want a fight?" Spike teased, moving toward her with a panther's grace.

"Not so little any more, you old wanker," Megan taunted back, her eyes never leaving his.

"Wanker?!" Spike protested as he circled closer. "I ought to give you a royal thrashing for that, you little niblet."

"Go ahead and try it," Megan dared, matching him move-for-move.

Never one to resist a challenge, Spike lunged for her, and before long they were engaged in a fluid, almost elegant exchange of feints and parries. The blond vampire noted approvingly that she easily deflected his more direct attacks, and demonstrated the finesse of a practiced killer. She was good.

'Course, she'd had the best teachers, he congratulated himself smugly. He'd have expected her to be this good.

Almost too good.

For a split-second, Spike's concentration slipped as he compared his current opponent to the awkward girl he'd trained. It was all the opening Megan needed. She had him pinned on his back with a stake poised over his heart before he'd even blinked.

Still, his bravado never left him.

"Thought you were doin' alright there for a minute, luv -- but where's the follow-through? I oughta be dust by now."

"Yeah, but then Willow would never forgive me," Megan fired right back, with a coy twinkle in her eyes. It was Spike's undoing, and he smirked. In a completely un-Slayer-like gesture, Megan threw caution to the wind and engulfed Spike in a fierce hug. "God, Spike, I thought I'd never see you again!!"

"Mmmm...if I'd known you'd throw me to the ground and try to ravish me, I would've hurried back sooner," he leered as he ran his hands up her legs and over the curve of her ass. Megan sat up abruptly and flashed him a reproving look.

"Hand check, old man," Megan chided with a wry grin. Then, her expression softened to that of the eager, shy child he remembered, and she asked, "So, where's Willow?"

As they rose to their feet, Spike pursed his lips and shrugged wearily. "Not sure. Left her in Baghdad, but she said she'd be movin' on." At Megan's alarmed, pitying expression, Spike added, "Sooner or later, Red'll come track me down. Or I'll track her down. But she's off on some sort of personal quest right now, and there's no changin' 'er mind when she gets like this."

Megan relaxed slightly at Spike's assurance that he and Willow were "still together". Nonetheless, she fidgeted awkwardly for a moment, not quite sure how to proceed with the reunion. Finally, Megan asked softly, "Wanna talk?"

Maintaining his cool exterior, Spike lit a cigarette, blew out a puff of smoke and replied, "Yeah, sure. Why not? Coffee shop or crypt?"

"Blood bank?" Megan suggested with an innocent lift of the eyebrows.

Spike narrowed his eyes and smirked. "Still a little brat, aren't you?"

*****

That was all it took for Slayer and vampire to renew their old ties. Spike slipped into a routine of joining her on patrol once a week or so. They would reminisce about Willow or trade stories about what had happened to each of them during the five-year separation.

Despite some initial misgivings, Megan's Watcher eventually came to accept their association -- albeit only with the help of Giles. However, Mr. Smythe couldn't quite bring himself to join Giles and Spike on the few occasions when they revisited the old days.

The first such occasion happened not long after Spike made his presence known to Megan. Whereas Mr. Smythe greeted Spike's arrival in the magic shop with an awkward, cautious attempt at civility, Giles merely flashed a brief, tired smile and waved the blond vampire up to his apartment.

"Neat or with ice?" Giles inquired as he set two glasses and a slightly dusty bottle of single-malt Scotch on the coffee table.

"Straight up," Spike replied as he took a seat on the futon. Giles sat down in a leather, wing-back chair, poured two glasses of Scotch, and handed one to Spike.

As they clinked their glasses together, Spike muttered, "Here's to cheating, stealing, fighting and drinking."

Giles raised his eyebrows for a moment at that particular memory, then answered, "Cheers."

"I take it Willow was well when you left her?" was Giles's first question after he'd savored his first sip of Scotch.

"Well and determined," Spike stated simply. "How 'bout things here?"

"I suppose as well as can be expected for a Hellmouth. We haven't had an Apocalypse in a few years," Giles mused thoughtfully.

Spike pursed his lips and said, as he raised his glass for another sip, "Good to hear." After he'd swallowed, savoring the rich burn of the alcohol, he continued, "How's the new bloke gettin' on -- what's 'is name, Simple Simon?"

"Cecil Smythe," Giles chuckled.

"Yeah, whatever."

"He's proven to be an able, supportive watcher...if a bit over-eager at times," Giles conceded. "At any rate, the fact that Megan has turned out to be a formidable Slayer is testament to the level of commitment he's brought to his calling."

"She's good, I'll grant you," Spike agreed. " 'Course, I'd say it had more to do with who started 'er out. Least you didn't let 'im turn 'er against us. Wasn't sure if she'd really stake me."

For a moment, Giles's expression darkened. "I made it a point to follow her education about vampires -- and the Council -- very closely. And, for the most part, Mr. Smythe handled it commendably. While he wasn't always forthcoming with information, he never lied to her."

"Let me guess -- when she couldn't get something out of her Watcher, she came to good ol' Uncle Giles," Spike smirked knowingly.

Giles raised his glass as if to make a toast, and declared, "I am the fount of all wisdom."

Spike cocked an eyebrow, raised his own glass, and they drank together.

The former Watcher grew pensive, then recounted more details of Megan's development. "It didn't take long for her curiosity about previous Slayers to emerge. And the more Smythe kept silent about what happened to Buffy, the more Megan wanted to know. The girl was -- is -- no fool. She realised quite soon that her situation was unorthodox; that no other Slayer had been called at such a young age, and that it wasn't the norm for vampires to step forward as a Slayer's protectors in the absence of a Watcher. Rather than jeopardize her working relationship with Smythe, I waited a few years before I told her everything."

"Everything?" Spike challenged. "Even 'bout you?"

"Yes, even about me," Giles answered, locking gazes with the blond vampire. "I spared her the grisly details, but I told her about Buffy's murder and our response to her killers. It was one of the few times I've seen her truly distraught."

"I can imagine," Spike let out a low whistle. "Never any fun to know there are people out there who might want you dead. Worse when it's your own keepers."

Giles shook his head. "She wasn't upset for herself. She felt sorry for Willow." At Spike's look of astonishment, Giles explained, "Willow made quite an impression on Megan. Apparently, when they first met, Willow told Megan that she and Buffy had been friends. Megan felt that it must have hurt Willow very deeply to lose her friend, and that they must have been very close for Willow to seek revenge against the Council."

After a beat, Giles concluded softly, "Megan said she would do the same, if anyone ever went after Willow. Or you."

The revelation deeply moved Spike, and it showed in his eyes. However, he masked it quickly and remarked, "Always knew she was a good kid. So, you mean to tell me Red and I rate bloody vengeance, but if something happened to you, she'd shrug it off?"

Giles chuckled. "She has a certain fondness for me, as well. But I've persuaded her that I am no longer afraid of dying. I'm not getting any younger, and I've seen more than my fair share of death. I've grown reconciled to my mortality...enough so that I have no qualms about inviting a vampire into my home and sharing an old bottle of Talisker with him."

"Good. Then I guess you won't worry about liver poisoning, either, y'old pisser," Spike taunted, nodding toward the nearly-full bottle. "So, what say we kill it?"

With a smile, Giles picked up the bottle and filled both of their glasses to the rim.

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