Coming Of Age

By Medea

Chapter Four

2020

Two years passed, and Megan graduated from high school.

She had spent her senior year browsing wistfully through brochures for the University of Colorado and Arizona State, but resigned herself to UC-Sunnydale, unwilling to abandon her duty.

Once in awhile, Spike brought Megan back to Los Angeles with him to visit Angel, which the dark vampire appreciated as a welcome diversion from the monotony of solving cases, fighting demons, and wandering the streets lost in thought until dawn.

Something about Angel's demeanor perplexed Megan. Any time Willow's name came up, he seemed to close in on himself. She said nothing, since she couldn't quite put her finger on what struck her as odd about it. It was only natural that he'd miss his friend. But it seemed to be more than that.

So, Megan decided to let it alone.

Spike became a familiar face to the residents of her dorm -- none of whom suspected that he was a killer. On the occasions that Spike didn't find her in her room, neither her roommate, Jackie, nor the other freshmen who lived on her floor batted an eyelash about waving him in the direction they'd last seen her.

One Saturday night, he found her down in the basement doing her laundry.

"Now, what's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?" Spike drawled as he strolled into the detergent-scented room.

"It's *because* I'm such a nice girl that I'm here," Megan retorted with the flippant grin she reserved for Spike alone, as she continued stuffing clothes into the washer. "I'm not going to be one of those college kids who takes her laundry home to mom."

"Oooh, a martyr, eh? But it's a Saturday night, luv. Y'know, the last Slayer let 'erself kick back a little."

Megan shrugged nonchalantly, dropped the lid and slid a laundry token into the machine. "I'll probably pop by the lounge in between loads and watch the movie they're showing. Then it's patrol-time."

"Well, that's bloody boring, isn't it?"

"I could always kick your ass for a little amusement," Megan pointed out, grinning broadly at his good-natured teasing.

"Dream on, little girl!" Spike chuckled, rolling his eyes dismissively. " 'sides, I would've thought you'd have some strapping young college man's arse to kick around on a Saturday night by now."

"How do you know I don't?" Megan folded her arms across her chest and demanded haughtily.

"Oh, come on, luv -- vampire, remember? Do I have to give you the remedial course on what we can tell about human physiology? Or about all of a woman's *intact* parts?" Spike taunted. He fixed her with a lewd stare, then closed his eyes, inhaled dramatically, and announced, "Nope. No young man yet."

"You...pig!" Megan exclaimed, partly shocked at the openly vulgar gesture, yet on the verge of laughing hysterically in embarrassment. "That was just *gross*, Spike! God, don't you *dare* do that in front of any of my friends! That was just...ick! I can't believe I still hang out with you."

Never one to pass up a chance to make the girl squirm, since it had become one of his favorite pastimes, Spike pushed further. Invading her space, his face mere centimeters from hers, he whispered seductively, "So, why no young man, luv? Holding out for someone better, perhaps?"

"Maybe I haven't come across anyone yet who's worth the trouble," Megan retorted without flinching. She knew he was just trying to yank her chain as always, and refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her flustered.

"Sure about that, are you?" Spike arched an eyebrow, his gaze locked with hers. He loved making the kid back down when she tried to challenge him, and as challenges went, this was turning out to be wicked fun. Bringing his mouth close to hers, he murmured, "You mean no one's ever made you burn, made you want to feel his hands on you, feel him touch those places where you blush even to put your own hands...?"

As Spike wove an erotic image with his words, he brought a finger up to Megan's breast and lightly teased the tender peak through the fabric. A trembling gasp slipped from her parted lips and whispered across Spike's. Blushing, she pulled away abruptly, and Spike could see the enticing outline of her erect nipples straining against her tee shirt. A quick whiff of the air left the blond vampire grinning smugly at how much he'd affected her.

"Okay, game over. We are so not going there," Megan asserted forcefully, finding it difficult to look Spike in the eye. "You're like my big brother or something. Eww. Not to mention the fact that you're with Willow."

Spike chuckled, but returned to the casual, gruff manner he knew she'd come to expect. "Go *where*, little girl? All I did was ask a simple question, and suddenly *your* mind is in the gutter."

"God, I *really* hate you right now, Spike!" Megan moaned, blushing even further. She let out an exasperated sigh and covered her face with her hands. Soon, though, she was laughing softly. "I don't believe this. I must be the only person on campus who has to put up with a vampire making fun of my lack of a sex life...while I'm doing my laundry, no less."

"Sure," Spike agreed. "Most of the other chits, I'd just go ahead and shag without giving a rat's arse about their sex lives or lack thereof."

Megan dropped her hands from her face and stared at him in shock. "You'd --- what?! But...you're with Willow! You'd cheat on her?"

At this, Spike couldn't contain his laughter. He let it bellow forth, and was still wiping the tears from his eyes when he finally regained enough composure to respond.

"You're such a bloody *girl*. I see your Watcher didn't go much beyond the basics about vampires. We don't march up to the altar and pledge to forsake all others until dust. Red and I would kill for each other, die for each other, but that doesn't mean we haven't had other lovers, even while we were together."

"So she could be off with some other vamp right now, and you wouldn't care?" Megan demanded incredulously.

All traces of humor left Spike's face at that thought. He scowled, and flecks of amber smoldered in his eyes.

"I thought so," Megan observed knowingly. "You wouldn't like it if she found someone else, but you think it's okay for *you* to sleep around."

"Watch it, niblet," Spike growled. "Red's mine. She's never minded when I satisfied an appetite with a human now and then, 'cos she knew that's all it was -- a passing appetite. Had 'er own human partners, too, though she kept it within a small circle of witches. And since she and I hooked up, there's only been one other vamp for either of us."

Megan's brow furrowed as she attempted to reconcile her human, romanticized notions of love with the image of vampire relationships Spike had just given her. As she was mulling it over, suddenly his words clicked in her mind, resolving a long-standing mystery. Eyes wide, she clapped a hand over her gaping mouth, then removed it and squeaked, "Angel!"

Spike narrowed his eyes at her, puzzled by her apparent surprise. "Yeah, of *course* Angel. Thought you knew."

"No one ever said anything," Megan murmured. "Like you said, Cecil basically stuck to what I needed to know about killing vampires. Giles would tell me a little more. But it was mostly about vampire customs, clan rivalries, some history." She paused for a moment, gazing at him shyly, before glancing away. "He was the one who explained why you bit me before you left."

For a moment, Spike's expression softened. He reached out and brushed a hand almost fondly over the scar he'd left on Megan's neck.

Then, lest he appear too soft, Spike observed brusquely, "Yeah, well, you're part of *my* circle. Couldn't have some pathetic minion chewin' on you while I was gone." He took a few paces away from her and changed the subject. "So Angel never talked about Red, then?"

"Oh, sure, he'd talk about her sometimes. But he seemed so sad. I always thought he was jealous of you," Megan admitted.

The buzzer sounded on one of the washers she had started earlier. While Spike stood blinking at her, Megan pulled her damp clothes from the machine and tossed them in the dryer.

"Jealous of *me*?" Spike mused. The idea wasn't exactly impossible, he knew. But after spending so many years resenting the hold his sire had over their shared lover, knowing that part of Willow's affections would always be reserved for her earliest protector and mentor, it felt strange to consider that Angel might have cause to be jealous of him, too.

"Duh," Megan shook her head and smiled. "Who was left behind while you two went off to see the world? And who has the funky tattoo that links him to Willow?"

Spike continued his silent reflection as Megan tossed a dryer sheet in with her clothes, shut the door and pressed the 'start' button. "I used to wonder what he was thinking about when he slipped into one of his funks. This kinda puts a whole new twist on things."

Spike let out a short laugh. "Nobody can tell what's goin' on in my sire's 'ead when 'e gets like that. Trust me, luv. I've known 'im for well over a century by now, and even I can't figure 'is moods all the time."

*****

A blood cocktail sat ignored next to Angel's hand as he leaned against a table in Caritas and paid no attention to his surroundings. He stared across the room at nothing in particular, as he had been staring for hours, and wondered where Willow was.

If she was okay.

He supposed that Spike would share the news if the tattoo vanished. Numbly, Angel blocked that thought out of his mind. But it was replaced by a gnawing unease at all the other things that could be done to a vampire without necessarily dusting it.

No, he wasn't going to let himself worry about that. Willow had proven time and time again that she could take care of herself.

<Even witches, even powerful vampires, can be caught off guard.>

Angel steeled himself against his treacherous inner voice.

He should have stopped her. Willow had been upset about Megan, and it had clouded her judgment. She felt alone, abandoned, and Angel cursed himself for not having done more to let her know that she wasn't alone.

Would it really have been so bad for him to have subdued her, tasted her that night in the cemetery? They had both wanted it.

Wanted it too much. He had known it then, just as he knew it now, and deep down, he knew that Willow understood as well. And rather than continue walking the fine line between danger and misery, she had chosen to leave.

This must have been what Buffy felt when he did the same to her.

Angel closed his eyes and felt his heart clench just a little tighter.

The thick fog of his thoughts was finally dispelled by the soaring, falsetto voice of a crooner from bygone days.

'I don't have plans and schemes,
and I don't have hopes and dreams,
Baby I just don't...have anything,
Since I don't have you...'

Angel scowled.

The Host had a sick sense of humor.

"Cute. Really cute," he growled darkly, looking up as the green-skinned demon approached his table.

"Well, I figured it would be a shame for you to sit there, carrying that BIG old torch, without a good, old-fashioned torch song," Lorne mused in his usual, half-sympathetic, half-condescending voice.

Angel glanced around and saw that, save for the two of them, the bar was empty. He'd closed the place; now he was being chased out.

As if in confirmation, the voice from the jukebox wailed melodramatically,

'When you walked out on me,
In walked old misery
And he's been here since then...'

Angel flashed the Host a disgusted look.

Rising to his feet, Angel muttered, "I can take a hint."

"Care for some advice, too?" Lorne spoke up as Angel turned to walk away.

"No."

Clucking his tongue in exasperation, Lorne continued, "Well, then I'll make this one for the road. Don't bury yourself, fellah. You can sing the blues, you can drown your sorrows, you can hold your breath...well, maybe there wouldn't be much point in your case...or you can keep burying yourself beneath the weight of the world. It won't bring her back any sooner. So stop burying yourself. Maybe you should try singing the blues for a change. It's more fun."

Angel paused briefly on his way to the door, looked over his shoulder, and shook his head in disbelief. "Thanks, but no thanks."

"Sure you won't give it a try?" Lorne persisted, but his only answer was the sight of Angel's broad back disappearing through the exit.

The Host shrugged and sighed, "I could tell you exactly what you want to hear, you big dope."

*****

Willow shifted restlessly in her shroud. Buried beneath the dunes of the Sahara Desert, she waited for the sand above her to cool, signaling that the sun was safely beneath the horizon. She was glad she'd learned the trick from a vampire in Cairo, but she still had to laugh.

It just seemed so weird.

Tonight on Wild Kingdom, see the burrowing vampires of the Sahara... right after the lions of the Serengeti and the flying squirrels of Madagascar.

But if her latest lead took her in search of a demon hermit who shunned settled communities, she would have to get used to this. A little discomfort was a small price for all she stood to gain.

She just wished it were easier to fall asleep. Although she didn't need to breathe, traces of the human fear of suffocating beneath the earth lingered on. The oppressive weight of the sand made it difficult for her to relax enough to get more than a couple hours' sleep each day.

Leaving plenty of time for her mind to wander. And wander it did, as always, back to Angel and Spike.

Willow wondered if they were driving each other crazy yet. There was no doubt in her mind that Spike had returned to Los Angeles. For all his impetuous stunts and volatile mood swings, her sweet monster was a creature of habit.

She hoped her two lovers were taking care of each other.

*****

Angel slammed Spike against the cold, marble exterior of a crypt. He relished the dull, hollow sound as Spike's skull hit the wall. Good. Maybe it would knock some sense into him.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Spike?" the dark vampire demanded, his voice low and menacing.

Angel was livid. This was one of the rare occasions he'd visited Sunnydale to check up on Megan, but what he saw when he tracked her down on patrol made him think he should have made it a point to come by more often. His incorrigible childe was trying to seduce her.

"What d'you mean, you big Poof?" Spike struggled to choke past Angel's hand, which was clenched tightly around his neck.

"Don't play with me, boy," Angel snapped, squeezing tighter. "And don't play with her, either. Megan has looked up to you since she was a girl -- God knows why. But I swear, if you use that to take advantage of her, what I did to Alexei will seem like a spa treatment compared to what I'll do to you."

Angel released his hold on Spike, whereupon the younger vampire slid to the ground with a thud. Spike hissed in pain, and mumbled a few words too quietly for Angel to make out. Angel bent down and slapped him.

"What was that, Spike? I didn't quite catch it."

Spike glared sullenly at his sire. "I *said* I'd never hurt her. Now get the hell off me."

"Don't mouth off to me," Angel scowled in his childe's face. "So what was that back there, just then? The leers, the suggestive remarks?" He pointed his finger accusingly. "Dammit, you copped a feel!"

"What the hell do you know?" Spike shot back. "She's used to it. We're just pissin' around, same as always."

"Yeah, sure, same as always. If I'd seen you touch her like that when she was eleven, I would have ripped your hand off," Angel retorted. "It's not the same as always. It's not just kidding around. She's not a girl, she's a woman. And you are *not* going to twist that to suit your needs. Just because Will--"

Angel's tirade was cut off when Spike hurled himself against the senior vampire. His fury allowed him to tap an inner reserve of strength. Overpowering his startled sire, Spike knocked him flat on his back.

"Meg's not a substitute for Willow! Nobody is a substitute for my Red!" Spike shouted. "Not even you, you pathetic, sorry sod! For fuck's sake, your own childe comes back to you, and it's still not enough to pull that gel-encrusted head out of your damned, broodin' arse! At least with Meg, I can talk about Red and the old days and NOT FEEL FUCKIN' DEAD!!"

Angel angrily shoved Spike away, but said nothing. Spike's words had stunned him; it was the cold shock of truth. Another reason for Angel to feel guilty about having failed the ones he loved. Both of them sat on the ground for a while, neither willing to look the other in the eye. At last, Angel muttered wearily, "You *are* dead, Spike. We both are."

"Oh, thank *you*, Mr. Angel Investigations. No wonder your bloody agency is always on the verge of bankruptcy."

Angel snorted ruefully, but said nothing for a few moments more. Then, he stood up, wearily dragged a hand through his thick hair, and said, "You care about Megan."

"Bloody hell," Spike muttered, rising to his feet. He lit a cigarette, inhaled, and blew out a cloud of smoke. "This better not be leadin' up to some *touching* father-and-son talk about the facts of life."

"I've seen you screw your way through an entire village, Spike. I think we've got that covered," Angel remarked dryly. "But is that all this thing with Megan is to you? Another stop on the tour?"

"You're enjoying this, aren't you, you prick?" Spike growled uneasily. Clenching his jaw, he turned his back to Angel. Another drag on the cigarette. Then, in a low, almost challenging voice, he admitted, "I told you I wouldn't hurt her, and I won't. 'Course I care. She's my girl."

"Spike..." Angel advised, "For once, think about the consequences. Not just for her, but for you. It might seem tempting now, but Slayers don't live forever -- they don't even live as long as a normal human. Are you really willing to put yourself through that?"

"Shut. The. Hell. Up."

Angel pressed further. "Why? Avoiding the issue won't make it go away. I care about Megan, too, but as much as she means to both of us, one of these days she's going to die." After a brief pause, he added a dark warning. "When her time comes, I won't let you turn her."

"Jumpin' ahead a bit, aren't you?" Spike retorted coldly as he spun around to glare at Angel. "I haven't done a bloody thing yet, and you're makin' like an over-protective father. Only you can't quite say 'don't do anything I wouldn't do, son', can you? Had *your* share already."

Instinctively, Angel's fist shot out and landed a forceful blow on Spike's chin. Then, continuing as if nothing had happened, Angel confessed with emotion, "I just want to spare you what I went through. Why set yourself up for that kind of pain?"

"Thanks for sparing me," Spike muttered, wincing as he rubbed his sore jaw. "Some of us don't give a rip about pain. We're vamps, or had you forgotten?"

"You know what I meant."

Spike stepped a few paces away from Angel and remained silent for a few moments. He inhaled deeply on his cigarette, reducing the last bits of tobacco to ash. As he exhaled, he dropped the butt on the ground and crushed it with his boot.

"I won't force the issue with her...but I won't talk her out of it if, one of these days, it turns out she's interested," Spike conceded at last. "I'm not like you, Peaches. I'm not in the habit of denying myself the things I want. Never does any good. You can give into temptation, or you can hold it off, but either way there's no guarantee they won't leave you in the end. And then where are you?"

After one final, penetrating stare, Spike turned and slipped away into the night, leaving Angel alone among the tombstones.

*****

Willow sat on the soft, silvery sand beneath the night sky. The air was cold and clear and still as a tomb.

She had an odd feeling -- she wasn't quite sure how she'd gotten where she was. True, she had been searching the desert for close to two years and knew that one dune looked much like another, making it easy to feel lost.

However, what really made her wonder if she were dreaming was her silent companion. She couldn't recall their initial meeting. At some point, he was just there.

Literally, he was *just* *there*...he hadn't spoken yet, or acknowledged her presence in any way.

The stranger was cloaked in midnight blue and his -- or her, or its -- face was completely obscured by a hood. All Willow could see of the creature beside her was a gnarled, purple hand with red claws. Peaking out from beneath a long, heavy sleeve, the hand traced geometric shapes and random designs in the sand.

"It is a very strange thing for a demon to seek. Of what importance is it to you?" the stranger said at last.

Willow furrowed her brow. Had they been talking?

"How do you know what I'm looking for?" she asked.

"You've been looking for me. There are only a few reasons that pilgrims seek me out," came the deep, raspy reply.

"You're the hermit!" Willow blurted excitedly.

"Why do you want this, blood drinker?" the hermit repeated.

"Why? Well...it's for someone who is important to me. Okay, and for me, too, if you look at it a certain way. It has to do with how we relate to each other, I guess...Wow, I can't believe I finally found you! But, here you are! Um...just out of curiosity, do you have a name?" Willow was so thrilled that her search had finally proven fruitful that she lapsed into babble-mode.

For several moments, the hermit remained silent. Willow wasn't sure what made her think this, but it almost seemed to her as if he were laughing -- even though he made no sound. Then, in his oddly ethereal voice, he replied, "Call me Hypnoi."

"Oh. I'm Willow. Um...getting back to why I'm here, I was told that you know a spell for--" Willow began, but Hypnoi's gravelly voice interrupted her.

"You, yourself have already given me the answer you're seeking."

"Huh? I have? Uhh...when exactly was that?" Willow stammered, confused. Was it part of a hermit's job description to be annoyingly cryptic?

"Haven't you, though?"

Willow frowned, growing impatient. "No...actually, that would be a big no. I must have missed that part."

"How can you seek what you cannot name? How can you name what you cannot recognize?" Hypnoi challenged evenly. Then, as if he pitied her lack of comprehension, he added, "Speak what was written at the first gate. Seek the Harvesters. They are the only ones left who know the language."

With that, Hypnoi vanished.

"Hey...HEY!" Willow exclaimed, blinking as she suddenly found herself alone in the desert. Leaping to her feet, she rested her hands firmly on her hips and shouted crossly, "That's not fair! What kind of clues were those? I've read prophecies that made more sense, you...you... inconsiderate vanishing hermit, you!"

Willow received no answer to her tirade, although later she vaguely remembered hearing faint echoes of laughter.

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