TriptychBy Medea
Chapter Three : Dominion
1. The Unholy Spirit
...so glad he came back. I can't believe I said those things...I wouldn't be surprised if Spike still hates me. I am *so* glad he came back, so glad...even if he came back just for Angel. I don't know why he came back, but he did.
How could I have been so stupid, so mean?
I just had to go and do it. Great job, Willow. Go ahead, get so wrapped up in proving a point that you tear Spike's heart out and dance the Mexican hat dance all over it and then sprinkle it with a little holy water from a baby's christening, why don't you? And *I* was the one talking about consequences and the cycle of violence. Because of how far *I* pushed him, he probably went out and killed a dozen people.
Why didn't I listen? Why did I have to be right?
I wouldn't have blamed him if he didn't come back...but I'm so glad he did. Angel and I couldn't pull this off without him.
Oh, God, Spike, I'm so sorry...I hope he'll let me make it up to him.
And on top of all that, this is really pathetically trivial, but what's getting to me right now is...
This lace is itchy. I really hate this.
But what can you do when you've got the leading vamps in the city waiting in a conference room, all of them hoping for a sign of weakness? A large part of evil is pulling off the act.
Actually, evil is a tight, black-lace dress that ITCHES like hell!
Arrgh!
The only thing that makes this even remotely bearable is that I know Angel really hates having to wear that belt. Angelus may have liked the huge, garish buckle, but Angel says it just pokes him in the gut.
But we have to make an impression.
A nice, sharp, pointy impression just over the sternum.
Yup, this is going to be a night to remember. I may have missed out on the making of the Alexei legend, but tonight will be the beginning of the Inglewood legend.
I only wish I felt more confident.
But after that fight with Spike...
I'm just glad that he came back. But I think we all finally realized how hard this is going to be.
The elevator doors slide open to the kind of polished, Wall Street elegance I remember from my first visit to Murdoch's office, decades ago. Nadia is waiting there for us with a few minions. Her sire must be in the conference room with all the clan representatives. It takes some effort not to let out a quick laugh -- and I'm *positive* that Spike is just dying to smirk -- at Nadia's appearance. The wire thingamajig in her ear and microphone on her lapel make her look so Secret Service.
As we approach, Nadia does what any vamp would do when involved in a power play, and addresses Angel. After all, to the rest of the world, he's still head of the clan.
"Welcome, Angelus. The delegates are waiting in our board room, as you instructed."
Time to get this show on the road. She's about to gesture for us to follow her, like a hostess seating people in a restaurant, when I speak up.
"And the other arrangements?"
Nadia's good enough that all I catch is a quick blink, but it's still clear that she wasn't expecting me to speak for our clan. She'd better be ready for it to get even weirder.
"Everything is set. Should I call down?"
"Not yet. We'll let you know," Spike answers without looking at her.
Thank you, Spike...I wish I could squeeze his hand in gratitude. After the things we all said...well, the things *I* said...I worry about him. Wait, who am I kidding? I'm worried about *me*, I need to touch him for *me*...because I'm afraid I hurt him so badly, he'll never let me touch him again. Me and my big mouth!
But the three of us won't touch each other -- part of the act.
This time when I glance at Nadia, I catch more than just a blink. She's as sharp as Murdoch, and he's trained her to study power. She knows the usual rules; she knows we're messing with protocol; by now, she's speculating about what it means.
"Show us in," Angel instructs evenly.
Nadia's eyes narrow ever so slightly for just a moment before she leads us down the hall. Two of the minions open a set of doors and advance before us into the board room like a couple of heralds. The chiefs of the leading clans of the city are all sitting around an enormous conference table, like delegates waiting to negotiate a treaty. Except that everyone knows there won't be any negotiating.
They'll take what we give them.
Angel, Spike and I enter at precisely the same time. Yay us -- we got even more blinks and raised eyebrows, but even better, now we've got a few lightbulbs going off -- of the "I-finally-get-it" kind.
Murdoch gets it.
I see Nadia stare at him for a second, then back to us.
Ping.
Nadia gets it.
But most of the others don't.
Right on time, a flicker of unease plays across Murdoch's face. Not morbid unease -- more like the embarrassment a waiter gets when he comes back from the kitchen with the news that they're all out of the dish you ordered. All because of the seating arrangement.
That big, insert-important-guy-here executive chair at the head of the table that he's just realized Angel won't be using. He's probably kicking himself for having miscalculated, although you can't really blame him. The set-up is dead-on perfect according to all conventions of vampire politics.
Murdoch is probably reminding himself that Angel, Spike and I aren't exactly conventional vampires.
Sigh.
Even if Spike wishes we were.
Okay, don't go there, Willow. This isn't the time...
And Spike *did* come back, so he's worked through the worst of it.
There's only been one time I've ever seen Murdoch *not* completely cool and composed, so it doesn't surprise me that he recovers before any of the other vamps notice. Although he knows it's pointless, he gestures to the head of the conference table and offers the VIP seat to Angel.
"Welcome, Angelus, Order of Aurelius. The clans are at your command. As you can see, the disputed territory is on the table; its partition awaits your decision."
Time for round two. Murdoch has indeed spread a vast map of L.A. out on the conference table, with the Ramirez clan's former territory outlined in red, but by now I think he suspects that plans have changed.
I'll say they have.
The three of us fan out. Angel doesn't go far, stopping behind a few vamps from one of the lesser clans, seated at the foot of the table. Spike marches up to the VIP seat -- I have to believe he's using this as an outlet for some of his frustration -- while I pause somewhere at the table's mid-point.
Spike doesn't bother to sit down, just says in that smooth, cool voice he does so well, "Not everything is on the table yet."
The murmurs go up around the room and I can't help it -- my demon shivers in delight at their anxiety. Spike is right; it feels *good* to toy with them, to measure my strength in their fear.
Murdoch doesn't miss a beat, though. By now, he's realized that the game has changed, and knows enough to play along.
He addresses all of us, not bothering to single Angel out by name.
"My apologies. I was unaware of the change in plans. Your instructions?"
"Bring the others in."
After spending more time than I cared to among the Tikal demons, I can pull a "cross-me-and-you'll-regret-it" voice to rival Spike's.
Actually, I think I'm scarier, but it's not like I'm going to tell him that.
We wait, and you can cut the tension with the good ol' proverbial knife.
It looks like Murdoch has decided to play along with us. I can't believe that he kept the others waiting too far away, but it's still a good fifteen minutes before his minions open the conference room doors and usher in the entire Inglewood clan. He must have thought we'd appreciate it if everyone had to sweat it out.
Well, figuratively--oh, whatever.
At this point, the ugly truth has dawned on the leader of the Inglewood clan. We're way past the point of lightbulbs. He's got a Las Vegas marquee flashing "if-I-could-kill-you-I-would" over his head, although he's managed to keep his scowl pretty discreet by vampire standards.
But, it's time to get down to business.
"Magic is forbidden during the Cup of Death," I begin.
You know, there's nothing like stating the obvious to confuse your opponents.
"And while we don't mind cheaters, *bad* cheaters are a bleedin' bore," Spike continues. "First rule of foul play: Don't. Get. Caught."
"So where's the evidence that anybody used magic?" a vamp from Santa Monica speaks up. So...he probably knows, and probably thought to advance his own fortunes by backing the Inglewood clan.
Stupid.
"Evidence isn't necessary. Suspicions are enough."
It's the first time Angel has spoken since we entered the conference room, and his voice is deceptively light, as if he were making small talk.
The head of the Inglewood clan doesn't bother with denials. He proceeds straight to curses and threats.
"You'd do well not to be so fucking arrogant! We've got connections you can't even--"
Vampires do have more acute senses than any other predators on this planet. Vision, hearing, smell -- it's all sharpened and honed beyond what mortals can comprehend. But even with that, he never saw it coming.
You know, when I levitated my first pencil, back when I was a human pawn in the Mayor's bid for power, I had no idea how handy that trick would come in.
As the dust settles on the chair that Mr. Loudmouth *had* been sitting in, and I pull two dozen pencils out of my cloak, I can see a newly discovered fear of writing implements in the eyes of every member of the Inglewood clan.
Angel looks over at the dusty seat and cocks an eyebrow.
"Does the maintenance staff come in before the office opens in the morning?"
"Early shift at 5:00 a.m.," Murdoch confirms easily. "Don't worry, the upholstery is stain-resistant."
"How convenient," I remark as I scan the Inglewood clan, taking the time to stare each one of them in the eye, just for an instant. "Now I want everyone to listen very carefully."
Pause for effect.
"Where magic is concerned," I continue, "Don't. Mess. With. Me...Ever."
When I think of the spells I've done -- teleportation, soul restoration, soul fixing, essence transfer, rune inversion, you name it -- a simple pencil-levitation doesn't seem very impressive.
I look down at the remains of twenty-two ex-vampires.
Don't do it, Willow. Don't think it--
I guess I got the point across.
Oooh, damn! I couldn't resist, but now I'm smirking. Maybe it comes off as an evil, scary smirk instead of an "I-just-amused-myself" smirk.
Before the other clan leaders in the room even have a chance to react to the fact that the entire Inglewood clan has just been wiped out, Spike turns to Murdoch.
"Got a pen?"
I have to give Murdoch some credit. He's a little rattled, but that doesn't stop him from pulling a red pen out of his breast pocket. He knows exactly where this is going.
"You'll want to add the Inglewood neighborhood to the territory under consideration," Angel observes.
Murdoch nods at Nadia, who walks over, takes the pen from him and traces the perimeter of the former Inglewood clan's range on the map.
"Harper, Cabrini, Tappert, Jones, Darien and Monk -- you're granted two square miles beyond your existing borders. The remainder of Ramirez's turf goes to Murdoch," Spike announces.
That seems to satisfy the larger clans represented here. A few of the delegates from the smaller clans are frowning, but the conspicuous absence of the vamps from Inglewood is enough to keep them quiet.
"South Inglewood is divided between Ortega, Branson, Forsythe, Funamori, King, Tasch, and Ellington," Angel adds.
"We leave North Inglewood to Andrew Murdoch, for services rendered," I finish, trying not to smirk *again* when I see the gleam in Murdoch's eye. He's made out like a bandit and he's just so pleased with himself.
Spike and I move back toward Angel, ready to make our exit as planned. But not before we drop the final bombshell. Angel and I agreed that we would be the ones to impose the new terms -- we know that Spike still isn't too happy with this part of the plan.
"From now on, no killing human children or teenagers."
Angel's firm command provokes a low rumbling of disbelief throughout the room. That's my cue.
I nod my head toward the dust-covered empty seats at the table.
"Not unless you want to end up like them."
Instant silence.
Since I've got their full attention, I continue.
"No killing entire families. No herding, except for renewable resources, and then *only* voluntary donors, and those only over eighteen. Mass hunts only on Solstice."
Spike and I turn toward the door as Angel delivers our final instruction.
"Andrew Murdoch is our agent for all clan business; contact us through him. Purely social calls are at your own risk."
And it's over.
We did it.
Sure, this is just the beginning, and with those conditions we just slapped down on the city's vampires, it won't be easy. But so far, so good.
And I can FINALLY get out of this damn itchy dress!
Not to mention try another round of reasoning with Spike.
Okay, I just used "reasoning" in the same sentence as Spike. I must really be tired.
Actually, I shouldn't kid myself. It will be groveling, big time, and I'll be the one groveling.
I just don't want things to go sour between us. Not when the three of us just embraced as Mates. I want Spike to be happy, and the last thing I want is for him to feel trapped in an arrangement where he's the odd one out.
I reach out and stroke my hand against his cheek; he gives me a sidelong glance and an arched eyebrow.
"Spike...thank you. I know this isn't going to be as satisfying as you'd like--"
"You both know we can't run the clans through Murdoch forever," Spike interrupts, not angrily, but in a tone of voice that says he won't back down. "If you're serious about changin' the way vamps work, this rulin' from on high's the first thing that's got to go. Gonna have to work *with* 'em, and get your hands a little dirty."
His resolve face could put mine to shame right now. It's tempting to imagine that Spike's eyes, hard and determined, are the source of every human legend about vampires having the power to hypnotize with their gaze.
But the truth is, he has a point.
"I know," I acknowledge, staring right back at him. "You're right."
Spike looks coolly at me for a few seconds, then nods. "Damn right I'm right."
Then he shifts his attention to the panel by the elevator doors, ticking off each floor as we descend. Okay, I deserve that. It's a first-class cold shoulder, but I really hurt him earlier.
I have to make this right.
"Spike, about earlier...I'm sorry. I don't have all the answers, and I should have been more willing to hear your side. And I *never* should have said those things about Megan. I just...well, thank you for coming back even if you don't--"
With a finger on my lips and a slow smile, Spike turns and interrupts me.
"Red...Willow, just stop."
I stop. Every impulse in my body is screaming to hold him, to pull him close, but I know I have to keep quiet and let him talk. It was my need to have the final say, to prove I was right, that created this whole mess. I still think I'm right, and I hope Angel and I will eventually be able to persuade Spike that we have to find a different way to rule the clans. But Spike deserved to be heard.
"I wanted to kill you for what you said, for makin' me go through that all over again. Wanted to kill *myself* when I found Meg lyin' on the ground, 'cos I'd failed her. And yes, as you so *kindly* pointed out, because I realized I was no better than the vamps who killed her. But I worked through it. Angel helped...so did tearin' apart the sods who did it...But I was wrong about one thing..."
A tickle of moisture in my eyes warns me that I'm about to start crying, and if we were back at our lair, I'd just go ahead and cry. But we still have to make it through the lobby of Murdoch's office building and out to Angel's car without revealing any weaknesses to other vampires who might be about.
"Rage isn't the only thing I've got left," Spike murmurs, turning to me with a look in his eye that I would have been happy to beg him for: forgiveness. "I've got you, and Angel. As maddening as you are...you're still mine. So I can't stay away. Love you too much."
I guess he's not as mad as I'd thought. That was definitely worth the wait, all right. So is the kiss he brushes across my lips and did I say brush? Maybe smothers would be a better oh way too much thought...this is...mmm...gosh, vampires aren't normally supposed to get warm, but my toes are definitely feeling toasty--
"Get a room, you two."
"Aw, feelin' left out, Peaches? No need to mope, ya Poof, you'll get your turn."
Wait, come back. No talking, I'm not done with your mouth yet.
"I wasn't moping."
"Give it up, I know moping when I hear it."
"Which just proves you're going deaf in your old age."
"Who the sod y'callin' old, you senile old git?!"
Okay, I know this is really, really going to ruin our menacing image when the elevator opens on the ground floor, but I can't stop laughing.
And crying.
Spike came back. He's really back. We might not agree on everything, we might say or do things to hurt each other, but he's not willing to turn his back on either of us.
We're Mates.
2. The Father
<*Fucking hell, Red...I was out *hunting* that night.*>
I can't stop hearing Spike's voice in my head.
I'd suspected, but he never wanted to talk about it.
And Willow, for all her good intentions, gouged right into Spike's depths and forced it to the surface.
The elevator passes floor by floor, and it takes every ounce of self-discipline I can spare to stop thinking of Spike's face when he lashed out at Willow. The pain was as raw as the night I found him where Megan had died.
Thank God he came back.
But I can't dwell on this right now. We have work to do first, and I have to focus.
If Spike can do it, so can I.
He's grown.
There was a time when he might have disappeared for weeks at a time when he was upset.
Like his rogue killing binge in London in 1888 after Darla humiliated him in front of the minions. Lucky for us, the police blamed it on an unknown human murderer.
Of course, Spike sulked when this anonymous human turned out to be even more vicious than he was. His efficient (if numerous) kills were soon forgotten amid the public furor over Jack the Ripper. Darla was furious, though. Not that she felt anything so *human* as compassion, but it irked her that such an artless, mortal brute was preying upon women in her former calling.
Darla ate him before the police had a chance to track him down.
I never thought I'd say this, but Spike has matured since then. I don't know what happened, but he managed to work through the hurt on his own -- and in barely twenty-four hours.
It's strange.
When we first planned this, Willow, Spike and I wanted to go over all the details, leave nothing to chance. But now we're about to go before the clans, Willow and I have no idea where Spike has been for the past day, we have no guarantee that he's still with us on all of this...and this is the first time I've felt confident that we're going to pull it off.
Good timing, since the elevator doors are sliding open, and we have a tough audience to impress.
It's really up to Willow and Spike to carry this, and from the minute that Nadia addresses me according to traditional protocol, they don't disappoint.
Both of them field most of the questions. As agreed, I hang back. As expected, this rattles a few cages. The set-up is just how I would have pictured it. Huge chair at the head of the table. Master of each clan seated, with his eldest childe standing behind him.
So little has changed since the eighteenth century. I could sleepwalk through this, if we simply wanted to go the traditional route.
Which is exactly why tonight's lesson in power will have such an impact. Spike is right to think that we have to deal in terms the clans understand. And we will. We're about to give them a wake-up call they won't forget.
I may not want to think like Angelus, but I can.
I don't just know the rules of the game, I invented some of them.
Willow and Spike handle the preliminaries with minimal discussion. They work well together. Willow is still agitated over their argument; I can feel her. And Spike....Spike is actually *brooding*. But despite the tension below the surface, their teamwork is flawless. They command this room, and the others know it.
The beauty of it is that Willow and Spike are maneuvering the clans exactly where we want them.
All but three vampires in this room assume that the purpose of this meeting is to divide the territory that once belonged to a clan unfortunate enough to have crossed Spike.
Willow, Spike and I came here tonight with one purpose, and one purpose only.
De-stabilize the power structure.
Tonight, every instinct vampires have about the trappings of power is going to be used against the Masters in this room.
I not only invented some of the rules of the game -- I know how to re-write them.
We've violated customary protocols about hierarchy, but the result won't be chaos. If anything, they'll cling even more tightly to their instincts, and scramble to fill the power vacuum with the most readily available source. Namely, us.
True, it's exactly the situation we'd be in if we opted to govern according to custom. With one crucial difference.
The rules will be whatever *we* make them. After tonight, we'll have them trained not to expect any conventional rules to apply. Because they'll still assume that there *have* to be rules, they'll hang on our every command.
Not too different from siring a childe, although even as Angelus, I never tried to break more than one at a time.
An entire city's vampire population is going to be a challenge.
Which is where Willow comes in. Spike and I can break them easily enough. It will be up to her to retrain them to adhere to a new code.
So far, she's off to a good start. Her skills with magic are known to every Master in this room, and with just a single remark, she's got the Inglewood clan scared. Already, the denials are flying.
It's time for a well-placed death sentence. I've kept quiet long enough to achieve the desired effect.
"Evidence isn't necessary. Suspicions are enough."
The head of the Inglewood clan launches into a tirade that only serves to reveal his stupidity. It inspires disgust, as reflexes I developed over decades in command of vampires far more worthy of the name than this one kick in.
An opponent who'd give himself away because he can't control his temper is such a waste of time.
"You'd do well not to be so fucking arrogant! We've got connections you can't even--"
His remains crumble to his seat before he has a chance to finish his threat.
For all her determination to find a new way to rule the clans, Willow still understands that the old ways have their uses. With her pencil trick, she's just reminded the rest of the Masters here that swift action beats a loud threat, every time.
"Does the maintenance staff come in before the office opens in the morning?" I ask, shading my voice with boredom.
"Early shift at 5:00 a.m.," Murdoch answers. "Don't worry, the upholstery is stain-resistant."
"How convenient," Willow adds, sounding almost amused. "Now I want everyone to listen very carefully."
I watch as she scans the face of every Master in the room, and am even more convinced that I can trust her to carry our plans as far as they can go. Her confidence floods through our bond, and mixed with the dread rippling off the other vampires in waves, it's almost intoxicating.
I'd better put a lid on that, or I'll be the one who blacks out and sleeptalks about poetry tonight.
"Where magic is concerned," Willow continues, "Don't. Mess. With. Me...Ever."
Of course, it's difficult to block out the fear cocktail when it magnifies exponentially after Willow dusts every vampire in the Inglewood clan.
We're able to move things along without a hitch. Murdoch seems to have adjusted and is taking our approach in stride. Most likely, he's guessed that falling in line behind us is his ticket to power. And he's right.
He's part of our plan.
Territory is redistributed almost as a matter of routine, and I can feel the other Masters calming down, as business starts to follow a pattern they expect.
Time to throw them off again.
"From now on, no killing human children or teenagers," I deliver the first shock.
A few rebellious growls go up in reaction to the bombshell I've just dropped, but Willow silences them with a quick nod at empty seats and a curt warning.
"Not unless you want to end up like them."
Instant silence.
"No killing entire families," she continues. "No herding, except for renewable resources, and then *only* voluntary donors, and those only over eighteen. Mass hunts only on Solstice."
Willow and Spike turn their backs on the room, leaving me to do the one thing we'll have done according to custom all night.
I have the last word.
"Andrew Murdoch is our agent for all clan business; contact us through him. Purely social calls are at your own risk."
Without a backward glance, I follow my Mates out to the elevator. Our business is done here, and the confusion I can sense all the way down the hall from the clan leaders suggests that our first move was successful.
That hurdle is over, at least.
However...healing the rift between the three of us will take a little more attention. And Willow never could sit still if there was a difficult situation to be resolved.
Case in point: my soul.
"Spike...thank you. I know this isn't going to be as satisfying as you'd like--"
"You both know we can't run the clans through Murdoch forever," Spike snaps. "If you're serious about changin' the way vamps work, this rulin' from on high's the first thing that has to go. Gonna have to work *with* 'em, and get your hands a little dirty."
He's right. Ruling through Murdoch will only buy us time, it isn't a permanent solution.
Echoing my thoughts, Willow murmurs, "I know. You're right."
Spike nods. "Damn right I'm right."
The silence in the elevator is almost painful, but by now I've accepted the fact that I'm a spectator. The worst of what was said earlier was said between Willow and Spike, and they need to work through it on their own. I have to remind myself that it's not just where the clans are concerned that I have to step back.
We three may be Mates, but we still relate to each other in our own ways.
"Spike, about earlier...I'm sorry. I don't have all the answers, and I should have been more willing to hear your side. And I *never* should have said those things about Megan. I just...well, thank you for coming back even if you don't--"
"Red...Willow, just stop."
I choke back a smile at his tone of voice. I have years of experience with Spike that tell me forgiveness is at hand.
And if I'm not mistaken, that particular inflection also means that reconciliation is going to involve some pretty incredible sex.
"I wanted to kill you for what you said, for makin' me go through that all over again. Wanted to kill *myself* when I found Meg lyin' on the ground, 'cos I'd failed her. And yes, as you so *kindly* pointed out, because I realized I was no better than the vamps who killed her. But I worked through it. Angel helped...so did tearin' apart the sods who did it...But I was wrong about one thing... Rage isn't the only thing I've got left. I've got you, and Angel. As maddening as you are...you're still mine. So I can't stay away. Love you too much." "
That's my sweet William. The woman who'd rejected him right before I found him was a fool. And not just because she ended up dead a few nights later, as my beautiful, new childe's first kill. No, she was a fool to pass up a man with the heart of a poet, and one of the most fiercely dedicated lovers anyone could ever wish for. She discarded him, delivering him into the hands of a murderous demon who could never, ever deserve such a gift.
I still don't believe I deserve either of them, but I won't ever let them go.
The scent of Willow's tears threatens to start me crying, too -- God, I'm *this* close. But we can't, not here. I have to lighten the mood.
"Get a room, you two," I mutter.
"Aw, feelin' left out, Peaches? No need to mope, ya Poof, you'll get your turn," Spike taunts. For someone as devastated as he was last night, he sounds almost jovial.
"I wasn't moping," I protest.
"Give it up, I know moping when I hear it."
"Which just proves you're going deaf in your old age."
"Who the sod y'callin' old, you senile old git?!"
Okay, now *that* calls for retaliation.
Senile old git? SENILE?!
That's it, when we get back to the hotel, I'm telling Willow about his poetry dream.
3. The Son
I've been blindsided, that's what it is.
It's getting so a bloke can't get a fair shake any more. Bad enough Murdoch's pathetic, rank amateur go at presiding over a ritual short-changed me on what should've been the best bloody night of my unlife.
Damned mandrake!
What's worse, though, is the honeymoon hasn't even *begun*, and my Mates're already gangin' up on me. It's enough to make me scream.
Actually, don't mind if I do.
"ARRRRRRGGGGGHHHH! For the last time, you TWITS, they're demons. Real, Grade A, bona fide demons. Regardless of how you see things, if we're going to do what you wanted -- IF we're going to keep your precious humans safe -- we've got to operate on terms they bloody well understand! They don't give a crap about your kinder, gentler, alternate approach to power!!!"
"Twits?!"
Red arches her eyebrows at me in that infuriating way she has of showing how unmoved, unconvinced, and unimpressed she is. Damn the wench, she's been pulling that look on me since she was a minion.
I put all that effort into a decent rant, and all she cares about are the semantics.
"Oh, pardon *me* -- my dear, beloved, Mated TWITS."
"Spike, we've been over this. Ruling with an iron fist isn't the answer. I wouldn't be able to pull it off for long enough to do any good. Don't ask me to."
Well isn't this sweet? Angel the Ever-Reasonable. And he's daft enough to think I'll be persuaded to show a little empathy just 'cos his soul is squeamish? Hardly.
Tosser.
"Stifle it, Angel." Yeah, I know how to get him to listen up good. Give him a curt snarl and you'll get his attention right quick. And I mean *His* attention -- I know Angelus is in there, and he knows how things are done. "So you haven't got the stomach for it. Leave things to Red and me. That's why you Mated us, isn't it?"
"I Mated you because I love you--"
That remark earns a roll of the eyes, but before I can tell him exactly what to do with his poncey sentiments, Angel's voice takes on a little of the Angelus edge I know so well.
"--not because I'm in the habit of passing off my responsibilities to a headstrong whelp who throws a little temper tantrum."
Sorry, Mate -- not gonna bait me that easily.
"See, there you are. Was that so hard?" I ask, knowing exactly where Angel's limits are and just how hard to push. "Still got a bit of the old man left in you. If you can do it with me, you can pull it off with the clans, I'd wager."
Angel turns away, and suddenly my guard is up. He's never been one to let on what he's feelin', no matter how many hits he takes.
"Knock it off, Spike," Red warns. Looks like I've definitely struck a nerve.
"Doesn't work that way, luv. We're Mates now -- equal partners. Daddy doesn't have the final say any more, which means I'll say what I damn well please."
"Fine, talk all you want, but don't waste our time," she spits out, just a hint of the demon flashin' in her eyes. "We all agreed--"
Oh NO you don't, little minion! Don't start.
"We agreed to step in and divide the spoils between the clans so things'd quiet down and the humans'd be safe -- as safe as they ever are with vamps on the prowl. I'll even grant you we talked about sharin' the responsibility so Angel can step back when he needs to. But I never agreed to rule like I'm anything other than what I am -- a demon."
"Oh, I get it -- nobody tells Spike what to do," Red snaps back, not missing a beat. "Ruling the clans is all about you and what you want, is that it? You'll 'do as you bloody well please', even if Angel suffers for it!"
Persuasive she's not. Red may be a sight to see when she's angry, but she's still wrong. They've both got it all wrong.
"He's not gonna suffer. I *told* you, you can both leave all the dirty work to me -- 's what I'm good at."
"Spike..." Angel sighs.
I cringe. Sod, *not* the sigh. 'Cos it never fails. Right after the sigh comes--
"If we follow the same old rules with the clans, we might as well renounce our authority as soon as we've finished dividing up the territory. I won't stop fighting for The Powers, and eventually this will put me at odds with the clans. Then, even you won't be able to keep them in line, not if the only means at your disposal is force. We'll have an open rebellion on our hands, another clan war, and the only thing we'll have done is postponed the bloodletting."
--the lecture. Lucky me. Crikey, I don't believe this.
"Alright, show of hands -- how many of us in this room are vampires?"
I'm not surprised when mine is the only hand that goes up, while Red and Angel stare back at me, arms folded across their chests.
"Let me share a secret with you. Little spot of bloodletting? Doesn't bother a vamp. This is your damned angst over killing again, little minion, and look where that ridiculous episode got you. You still kill, and you're a fair sight more soft-hearted than the rest of the vamps in this town. You try to turn 'em into good little housepets, and they'll turn on you for sure."
"So vamps can never change their spots, is that it, Spike?"
Don't much trust that tone in Red's voice. If she thinks she's gonna toy with me--
"I guess that explains why you still have a sketch of a Slayer up on your wall, right? Because we all know how much your average vamp loves Slayers."
The pain feels like daggers carvin' me up from the inside out. I have't felt anything this searing since I got rid of the damned chip.
If it were *anyone* other than Red, that remark would have ended in a painful death.
"Don't you dare bring her into this."
"Why not? It was your need to slaughter Megan's killers that set off this whole clan war. But they were just doing what vamps do, weren't they? A little spot of bloodletting shouldn't bother a vamp, should it, Spike?"
"Willow, that's enough," I hear Angel warn her in a low voice, but through the rage it sounds like he's miles away.
Bloody hell, I can't move. Can't even make my mouth work.
All I can do is stare at Red while the blood in my veins turns to ice. Somewhere in the background, Angel's tryin' to do damage control.
"Spike, any of us would have reacted exactly the way you did." Angel pauses and shoots one of 'is trademarked stern looks at Red. "All of us *did* react that way when Buffy was murdered. We *are* demons, and our kind has been ruled by blood lust for millennia. That's not going to change any time soon."
"Angel--"
"Willow, let me finish. Just because we want to change things doesn't mean we'll be able to overcome thousands of years of violence by imposing a new set of rules. Most likely, we're going to fail at this. The most we can do is plant seeds, and recognize that success might not come until long after we're dust. But we still have to try. I've learned that in the scheme of things, we can't solve everything with a single, grand triumph. All we can hope to do is take each challenge as it comes."
"But Angel, you were the one who wanted--"
"You bitch..."
A whisper's all I can manage, but it's enough. Red forgets whatever tirade she had in store for Angel and gapes at me like she forgot I was even here. And that hurts all the worse.
"How dare you try to use Meg against me? You weren't there! You've no right to say anything about it! You can go to hell with your sanctimonious speeches about movin' beyond vengeance and demons changin' their spots. If I move beyond it, if I let go of the rage, then she's really gone. Vengeance was the only thing I had left of her!"
Well, well...so Red's got a few feelings for poor Spike after all. Those big green eyes, so full of compassion -- and I'll be damned, a little spot of regret, too. Too bad she bloody well crossed the line.
"I'm sorry, Spike. I was out of line--"
Don't even bother to hide my opinion of her overdue apology, but Red ignores my scowl and rambles on.
"I know the rage, the lust for blood and pain. It never goes away. And I would *never* question how much you loved her. But is the best way to honor Megan really to be just as ruthless as the ones who killed her? To outdo them on the same scale of violence that brought her down? Do you think it would have comforted her to know that your method of dealing with grief was to become even bloodier than her killers?"
No.
No, I won't feel this again.
Pain wrenches my gut, cold and hollow. Even the feel of skin tearin' away from my knuckles when I put my fist through the wall doesn't make it go away, although the smell of blood sharpens my mind. Damn Red for makin' me go through this all over!!! Every memory from that night is still sharp as a knife, and cuts right through me.
"You think I haven't thought about that? Don't you think I've hated myself for being no better than the bastards who drained her and tossed her aside, every single night since it happened?"
My Mates're frozen in place, horrified. Join the bloody club -- I went through hell that night. I can't...stand...still...have to get out... have to do something. God, no, don't make me think about this again... I should've been there, I should've FUCKING. BEEN. THERE.
No, dammit! Not gonna cry...not gonna cry...I'm gonna *kill*.
I don't want to say the words, but I still hear them slip from my mouth in a hoarse whisper.
"Fucking hell, Red...I was out *hunting* that night."
I can't stand to be here anymore. But I don't miss Red's soft gasp as I slam the door to Angel's suite and head out through the lobby.
The first one barely slows me down.
Neither does the second.
Drain 'em. Drop 'em. Move onto the next.
By the third, I can actually feel *something*, as all that hot blood pours down my throat. Goes straight to my core. I'm a *vampire*. This is what I do, what I am.
's what I was made for.
Air's cold. Pavement's cold. I'm colder. I'm Death to all these idiots who don't have enough sense to stay in at night. Fools're fair game. Now there's a law of nature for you.
I kill them because I *can*.
Damn Red and her damned mouth and her damned higher purpose! Who the fuck does she think she is?!? Like she's the only one who's ever cared for somebody! Like *she* didn't help kill seven humans in cold blood when Buffy died! And now the rest of us are s'posed to play by a new set of rules, just 'cos she decides the old ones aren't workin'. Sod that!
No! Not gonna feel this pain again, I won't....Somebody else can fucking feel the pain!
Like that bloke steppin' off the bus over there, with his nose so deep in a book he's just as likely to walk into a wall as he is to find his way home. As I said, fools're fair game. I follow him for a few blocks and he doesn't even hear me until I've got him up against a dumpster, all wide-eyed behind his wire-rimmed glasses and trembling at the sight of the big, bad monster. Oh, yeah, mate, I'm big and bad, and I *do* bite. He yelps into my palm, like they always do, as I sink my fangs in, nice and deep. I could've just snapped his neck, but I want him to feel it -- I want him to know what dying feels like. Want someone else to know what it is to have everything drain away...all the feeling... your last hope...everything that gives you a reason to keep moving...
...all of it gone, torn away and bleeding because she's lyin' there at your feet and you can't bring her back...
The final tremor shakes through the nancy bookworm. I let go and he drops in a heap beside my Docs. His book fell a few paces away. It's ragged and worn. Either he's one of those used bookstore types, or it was one of his favorites -- or maybe both.
Hmm. Thomas Mann. 'Death in Venice'.
Fitting.
Looks like he was a page-marker, too. One's been folded down so many times that the corner finally breaks off and drifts down to the street like a leaf from the tree.
"...It was an urge to escape, he admitted it to himself, this longing for the distant and new, this desire for liberation, for unburdening and oblivion..."
Oh, brother. Quite the little philosopher he was, it seems.
You're better off this way, mate.
Dawn's close. The air's pickin' up that energy, like embers bein' stirred in a fire. Didn't realize how long I'd been walkin'...
Don't much want to go back just yet.
Can't even bring myself to feel a good rage anymore, either. What's the world coming to when a decent killing spree can't even lift the spirits?
I put my back up against a wall, but it doesn't hold me up. Guess there's nothing to hold me up at all. Fine, I don't care... Been a long time since I've seen a sunrise... Wonder if it'd be worth it...
Oh, bugger! No, I don't think so.
I'm not that far gone. Even *I* have enough self-respect left not to let my final resting spot be a sidewalk in front of a Starbucks.
Bloody yuppie watering-hole.
Wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy.
Well...maybe some of 'em...
Doesn't take much to pry up the manhole cover and drop down into the sewer just as the sky's turnin' pink.
She never did like pink, not even as a girl. I remember when she threatened to paint the--
--oh, hell! Not again...not...dammit, get a grip, mate, don't start the waterworks again. Damn Red and Angel for makin' me feel this!
...damn them for...for...
...for being right.
Oh, fuck.
After the hell I went through, I shouldn't have to deal with this. Those bastards took somethin' from me that can't ever be replaced. I died all over again that night, and killin' every last one of those sods didn't even begin to make up for it. But I had a right to it, dammit! It was something! Damn Red for thinkin' she can put everything in perspective when she wasn't even there!
Damn her and her damned perspective for makin' me think about this...
...and for makin' me see she's right.
Meg gave me a reason to be different.
And she never made me feel any less the vamp for it.
Rage isn't the only thing I've got left of her. What she gave me was a reason to be something other than a killer. To be exactly what Red and Angel are askin' me to be now...
Who the hell schedules these damned epiphanies, anyway? Who did I piss off, that mine had to hit me when I'm cryin', ankle-deep in a soddin' soggy sewer, and rats scurryin' around my feet?
Guess it's just as well. Won't have to kill any of the little vermin for seein' me like this...unless those are actually vamps who crossed Red the wrong way...
How did she work her way into my gut like she has?
Infuriating little minion. Been convinced she knows what's what since day one, didn't even know well enough to back down against a brassed-off Master vampire who had a year's worth of grudges eatin' away at him. Cor, she can really get to me. Tears right through me without even battin' an eyelash.
And I still love her.
And him. God, what he's done for me.
Mates.
Can't quite believe it yet. He was my sire, and that was...everything. Just bloody *everything*.
But this...I didn't have to be everything for him, it's different for the sire. Offering himself as my Mate, though -- that's about as powerful a declaration as there is. He *wanted* me to be everything -- me and Red.
Guess this means I can't very well let rulin' the clans eat away at him. Bloody hell, another reason they're right.
I'm not in the habit of usin' the sewers as much as Angel, since I sleep during the day like a *normal* vamp, so it's well near dark above ground before I make it back to the lair. Damn tunnels all look alike. Must've spent a good hour goin' 'round in circles at the--
Hold on.
I don't believe it. Well, fuck me sideways...that bastard!
Bet he knew this'd happen.
Before I can haul open the door that leads into one of the hotel's serviceways to the basement, the truth hits me and damned if I can't stop laughing. Not just a chuckle, but a good, hard, whoop-'til-I-cry laugh. I make such a ruckus, I'm surprised when my Mates don't come runnin'.
Must be a two-for-one deal on epiphanies in a sewer today.
Here I am, headin' back after barely twenty-four hours 'cos I don't wanna let my Mates down on our big night with the clans. Used to be a time when I'd just say sod 'em and drop out for a few weeks. But now, I can't. We're...connected. I'd rather fry in the sun than see 'em hurt--
Bloody hell.
That pillock!
Angel went and fixed it so I'd be...dammit, it's already done.
I'm *responsible*.
From William the Bloody to William the Bloody Upstanding, Reliable, Pulls-His-Weight....arrrgh!
You know, I've half a mind to just take off for a nice spot of drunken slaughter to prove it's never gonna happpen.
Problem is, it's already too late. I soddin' well *care* about 'em enough to...hell, I can't even believe I'm thinkin' this....enough to take on the responsibilities of leadership.
Somebody stake me.
Eventually, I make my way up through the serviceway to the lobby. Red comes rushin' over like she's ready to tackle me, and I can see the streaks on 'er face that tell me she had the decency to cry over me while I was gone. Good. She's not forgiven just yet. On her way there, maybe, but not quite off the hook. I shrug her off, but don't protest when Angel invites me back to his suite for a quick shower before we head out for the big event.
By the time I've scrubbed off the dank stink of the sewers and suited up, I'm in the mood to play. I may have come 'round to seein' things from Red's and Angel's point of view, but it doesn't mean I can't still have a little fun at the other vamps' expense.
We don't talk much during the ride over. Just enough to square away a few last-minute details, and make sure we're all playin' for the same team. The mood isn't necessarily grim, just down-to-business. We're all of us ready -- I can feel it. Lost count of the rows I've gotten into, but every single time, there's a moment before the action starts when all the edginess sharpens to a single point, when something clicks and I know I'm ready to take whatever I'm up against. Gets me stiff as all hell, too.
I feel it now, and what's better, I can feel it from my two Mates.
No better time for it, either, 'cos we're steppin' out of the elevator into Murdoch's high-priced, polished executive suites and Nadia's there to greet us.
She looks like one of those damn Men in Black, all toffed up in a suit that's too prim by vampire standards, with some kind of wire snakin' into her ear. Bet Red is tryin' hard not to laugh.
"Welcome, Angelus. The delegates are waiting in our board room, as you instructed."
Right on schedule, Red pipes up, givin' her the first clue that the game has changed.
"And the other arrangements?"
Nadia had nerves of steel even before Murdoch got his fangs into her, and hearin' Red speak instead of the supposed head of our clan doesn't rattle her a bit.
"Everything is set. Should I call down?"
"Not yet. We'll let you know." I can feel Red's relief when I throw myself into the game. Good. I'd say she owes me some raw nerves.
Everything unfolds according to the same old routine, and I'd wager Angel is as bored with this as I am. Angelus presided over his fair share of privy councils in our day, and he at least had a little flair to his style.
Like Edinburgh, 1892. Now *that* was a show. Some of the local clans called him in as a neutral Master to resolve a grudge between 'em, and damned if he didn't pull it off so well, they forgot how it'd all started. Got himself and the clan leaders invited to some big, human social affair -- wedding, I think -- and told 'em he'd rule in favor of whichever one offered the best toast at the banquet. Everyone was laughin' like mad, vamps and mortals alike, and when it was through, Angelus invited the other Masters to slaughter the entire guest list.
I think I ate the bride...maybe a bridesmaid, don't remember that bit too clearly.
One of the best parties I've ever been to.
That was Angelus. Nobody knew how to manage power like he did. Always made the scales tip in our favor, too, and it was fun as hell. Like an artist, he was.
Not like these vamps who've gotten all their ideas about power from corporate America.
No sense of drama whatsoever.
"Welcome, Angelus, Order of Aurelius. The clans are at your command. As you can see, the disputed territory is on the table; its partition awaits your decision," Murdoch announces.
See, what'd I say?
Sterile board room, gray suits, flat delivery. Pathetic.
Time to show these buggers how it's done.
Oh, yeah, that got their attention. I've claimed the place of precedence at the head of the table, right next to that mammoth seat everyone expected Angel to take. The confusion in the room is downright...tasty.
My Mates'n I'll give 'em a show that'd make Angelus proud.
"Not everything is on the table yet," I snap at Murdoch, lettin him know he'd better be ready to take orders.
No worry there, really, but gotta keep everyone on the edge of their seats. They are, alright, and it gets even better when Murdoch's minions usher the entire Inglewood clan into the room. The Master of the clan has figured out by now he's at his own execution, and he's churnin' out fear and anger like a bloody furnace.
"Magic is forbidden during the Cup of Death," Willow observes, in that innocent, off-handed way she does so well.
"And while we don't mind cheaters, *bad* cheaters are a bleedin' bore," I add. "First rule of foul play: Don't. Get. Caught."
"So where's the evidence that anybody used magic?"
You sorry, stupid sod. Wrong question.
"Evidence isn't necessary. Suspicions are enough."
Now *that's* a voice I remember well. Cor, this takes me back! Angel's none too happy about takin' on the clans, but there's still none that can lace a remark with a deadly threat quite like Himself.
"You'd do well not to be so fucking arrogant! We've got connections you can't even--"
'Course, Red *does* have her own flair for delivery. That's one of 'em down. The rest've probably just realized how much trouble they're in.
From here on out, it seems like coasting. We've just made it clear that only a fool with a death wish dares try to get anything past us. The rest of it is a formality. Angel and Red handle the real shockers -- the restrictions on hunting and killing. 's not that I'm not behind them on this, but they have to be the ones to say it.
None of these vamps'd believe it coming from me. Can I help it if it's no secret I like a good hunt -- the bloodier, the better?
No matter. It's done with, and my Mates and I can head home now without the slightest doubt that we've got the clans eatin' out of our hands. Don't know how long it'll last, but for now we've got 'em petrified.
It doesn't surprise me when Red wants to jump immediately to the kiss-and-make-up part of the evening. Soft-hearted little witch, never could resist tryin' to fix things.
"Spike...thank you. I know this isn't going to be as satisfying as you'd like--"
"You both know we can't run the clans through Murdoch forever," I cut her off, wantin' to see her squirm just a bit longer. I may love my Mates, but I'm still a demon -- can't let this go without savoring just a bit more agony. "If you're serious about changin' the way vamps work, this rulin' from on high's the first thing that has to go. Gonna have to work *with* 'em, and get your hands a little dirty."
Ahhh...Red wears her agony so well. Never known a demon who could actually look *forlorn*. Well, aside from the Poof, but His Broodness is in a class by 'imself.
"I know," she murmurs, sounding properly contrite. "You're right."
"Damn right I'm right," I nod, tryin' to keep from grinnin'. Gotta hold out just a little longer...can't spoil the fun just yet...
"Spike, about earlier...I'm sorry. I don't have all the answers, and I should have been more willing to hear your side. And I *never* should have said those things about Megan. I just...well, thank you for coming back even if you don't--"
She's got me. I'm a Master vampire with a good 130 years on her, and this little mix of contradictions can undo my resolve with a look. As much as I'd like to keep toying with her, a smile slips out and I press a finger to those sweet, trembling lips to hush her.
"Red...Willow, just stop."
She does, and looks at me like she'd tap dance in a church if I'd just forgive her.
I'll settle for a good shag.
"I wanted to kill you for what you said, for makin' me go through that all over again. Wanted to kill *myself* when I found Meg lyin' on the ground, 'cos I'd failed her. And yes, as you so *kindly* pointed out, because I realized I was no better than the vamps who killed her," I explain. "But I worked through it. Angel helped...so did tearin' apart the sods who did it...But I was wrong about one thing...Rage isn't the only thing I've got left."
She's close to tears. I'm not far behind.
"I've got you, and Angel. As maddening as you are...you're still mine. So I can't stay away. Love you too much."
As furious as she had me at everything she said about Meg, it all melts away when I taste her mouth. Just a hint of salt and regret, but when she responds...God, a bloke could get addicted to this much passion.
Come to think of it, I already am.
"Get a room, you two," Angel mutters.
"Aw, feelin' left out, Peaches? No need to mope, ya Poof, you'll get your turn."
"I wasn't moping."
"Give it up, I know moping when I hear it."
"Which just proves you're going deaf in your old age."
"Who the sod y'callin' old, you senile old git?!"
Red's laughin' at Angel's attempt at comic relief, and it'd take a far stronger vamp than me to keep from smirking. Sorry, Mate, but a century as the King of Brood is poor training for witty banter. Although I don't like that wicked gleam he's got in his eye right now.
Damn him for knowin' me so well.
He knows I'm through the worst of it. And I've got a sneakin' suspicion that it's open season on Spike again.
Bloody hell...I hope I didn't talk in my sleep the other night.