EPISODE FOUR
"Out of the Loop"
Spike sat on the back steps of the Summers house and regarded the starry sky with a dispassionate gaze. It was a beautiful night, fine and mild with the slightest of breezes, just perfect for patrolling. On a clear night like this you could see the vamps coming for miles, and yet he couldn't find any motivation to get up and do anything about it. He fumbled about in his pocket for a cigarette, methodically lighting up and blowing a stream of smoke into the air.
Ha! Not so clear now, was it?
He cocked his head, scenting another presence. "Hello Rupert."
"Spike." The Watcher lingered in the kitchen doorway for the briefest of seconds, before he closed it behind him and moved to stand on the uppermost step, right next to the dejected vampire. "I'm surprised to see you here."
Spike let out a cheerless snort of laughter. "Got nowhere else to be have I?"
Giles stared down at the bowed head, the crown of pale hair bathed in moonlight. Spike looked very lost and very alone. It was rather disconcerting to see him so vulnerable. "You're smoking," he observed. "You haven't done that for a while."
"Not since I found out about the Nipper." Spike inspected the glowing tip of his cigarette as if it were the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen, then sighed resignedly. "Can't say as I missed it." He tossed the half-spent butt out onto the path and watched its arc into oblivion with casual indifference. "I'm losin' her, you know," he said suddenly, his voice soft, almost hesitant. "She's slippin' right through my fingers and I can't do a sodding thing about it."
The Watcher was startled, he hadn't expected that the vampire would confide in him. "Last time I checked that was impossible," he said. "The link is permanent, and the Powers That Be..."
"Don't give two-bloody-hoots about little ol' Spikey and his problems. Semi-souled half-vampires don't rate overly high in their books."
"Good Lord, you really know how to wallow in it, don't you? Angel brooded, but he wasn't a defeatist."
Spike's entire demeanor changed. He glared up at Giles, wintry eyes glinting with hostility, the darkened smudge of bruising around the right one only accentuating the fury within. "So, you'll be takin' her side. Should have figured." He shot to his feet and pointed an accusatory finger at the Watcher. "It's because of you that she's pushin' me away. You and the blasted Scoobies."
"Whatever are you blathering about, Spike? Buffy wouldn't..."
"Oh, wouldn't she?" Spike's brows arced incredulously upward. "Whether you want to admit it or not, you're the sole most important influence in her life now Joyce is gone. The Scoobies run a close second but even they look to you for guidance, they see what you think and they follow. And she knows you've never accepted me, any of you. Spike's not good enough for the precious Slayer, never gonna be good enough..."
He gritted his teeth, not wanting to travel down that particular route just yet. "But that's not the be-and-end, is it? Main problem behind all this is she's scared, Rupert. She's so bleedin' terrified that she can't think straight. She won't share, but I can feel it in here." He thumped a fist against his breastbone. "It's been festerin' all these months, eatin' away her insides. Now she's given up on the pretense and let it surface."
"Let what surface?" Giles massaged a temple with agitated fingers. "I don't understand."
"The link has been weakening as this pregnancy has gone on," Spike explained. "It was perfect at first, like my own bloody fantasy world come to life. The two of us together, as thick as thieves, peas in a pod... well, you saw. Too good to last, eh?" His head dropped back, eyes closing for a second. His expressive face showed frustration and anger, and shockingly, profound heartbreak.
"Couple of months ago Buffy started losin' all that extra power she'd got, dwindled away right quick it did, 'til she'd come down to being about as effectual as a fledgling. Had to rely on yours truly for her strength, use the link like she did in Pylea. But then she got distracted and distant, started shutting me out. That whole thing about the Nip bein' alive for example? It's only just now comin' to light, but not once did she ask me about it. Not once."
Giles was growing increasingly concerned. His failures in his duties as Watcher were expanding exponentially as the day wore on. He'd made such a huge cock-up things, holed up in his impenetrable fortress of moral high-ground, wrapped in a cloak of prejudice and loathing, and they had been struggling through on their own. Struggling and failing. He found himself feeling sorry for the anguished vampire, feeling an urgent need to apologize, to offer atonement for his faults.
"But you appear to be so deeply connected..."
"'Appear' being the operative word there, Rupes. Most of it's front, Buffy puttin' on her big brave Slayer face for the adoring masses." Spike slouched against the porch railing and cast a furtive glance at the door as if he expected Buffy to come charging out any second, weapon in hand. "There's occasional flashes of the old link magic, but not nearly as powerful as before." He jammed his hands in his pockets and inspected his feet, scuffing one absently against the top riser. "Best I can figure is that the link's not permanent at all. We've all been played."
"What possible reason could there be for -?"
"To get the Slayer up the duff. They needed me human for that, and now the stork drop is imminent, I'm expendable. Sever the link and let Spike drift off in a cloud of dust."
Giles stared. "That is utter bollocks."
"Is it?" Spike's chin lifted a fraction. "Think about it. What happened the last time someone yanked out the link's power cord?" He watched enlightenment dawn on the Watcher's face and nodded. "That's right. I almost died - again. If Red hadn't busted up your little party, I'd've been a decorative layer of powder in my bloody Sire's boudoir. The thing is there's no magical antidote this time 'cause it's happening all on it's own."
Giles shook his head, unable to accept what the vampire was telling him. "No. This match was predestined I've no doubt of that. I've had the opportunity to observe you both over the years, and as much as it pains me to admit it, you're a far superior force when you're together. You complement and balance each other, test each other's boundaries, expand each other's horizons. One is not whole without the other. And she does love you, more than I think even she realizes. Losing you would destroy her."
Spike matched the Watcher's stare, though his was shaded with a hint of wonder. "Well, there's somethin' I never expected to hear. 'Specially from you."
"I may be a stubborn old git, but I'm not blind," Giles retorted dryly. "Not this time. Buffy has always been reticent about expressing her emotions, but that's because she feels them so very intensely." He gave the vampire a rueful glance. "But I'm not telling you anything you don't already know, am I?"
Spike waved a dismissive hand. "Don't let that stop you. I need all the help I can get." He squinted at the Watcher suspiciously. "You are helping?"
Giles twitched. He hadn't thought of it that way. "Apparently." He leant against the opposite rail, mirroring the vampire's pose, and eyed him appraisingly. "You don't believe you're worthy of her either," he said incisively. "Do you?"
As Spike gaped at him, astonished by his perceptiveness, Giles was struck with a curious impulse to cry, 'A hit, a palpable hit!' The vampire's clear blue gaze was raw and unguarded, exposing a raggedy patchwork soul that was far more fragile than any of them had suspected, but then he blinked the protective shutters back into place. Nevertheless he remained as candid as always. "No I don't."
He scavenged about for another cigarette, not so much for the nicotine fix as for something to occupy his hands. His inherent restlessness had been kept in check up to now by frequent physical contact with Buffy. He'd spend hours playing with her hair or mapping the texture of her skin. That avenue wasn't exactly open at the moment so he'd picked up his old habit and then some, he'd almost gone through an entire pack since that morning.
"Know what I did downtown today?" he asked conversationally, as though they were two average geezers having a pint at the local. He lit up and took a deep drag, watching the smoke drift away into the darkness. "Scared the hell out of some unfortunate old bird just by looking at her."
Giles shrugged. "Most people do find your appearance rather odd."
Spike scowled at him, but otherwise ignored the slur. "You're not gettin' the point. I nearly went game face on a member of the blue-rinse set and I enjoyed it. What does that say about me?"
"Forgive me, Spike, but you are still a vampire. I'd be worried if the demon in you didn't enjoy that sort of thing." He smiled nostalgically. "I seem to remember doing something similar when under the influence. It was almost worthwhile being turned into a Fyarl demon just to terrorize that dreadful Walsh woman."
"Hello? I was there." Spike rolled his eyes. "But jollies aside, what kind of example is that to be setting? I love the Nip, but I'm going to make a horrible Dad. I know it. You know it. They'll both be better off without me."
Giles straightened as the vampire's ramblings began to come together in his head. "Oh for the love of... This is why you are so disinterested in the prophecies, isn't it? You don't think they apply to you."
"I said it before when all this rot first came up. I'm not cut out for the Guardian business."
"And I'd say you were spouting utter bollocks, but I'd just be repeating myself," Giles muttered.
Spike flicked his still-burning cigarette at the Watcher. It bounced off his tweedy sleeve and onto the porch. As it was being crushed out, he scrutinized this erudite man who was by all intents his father-in-law; carefully sizing him up, weighing the chances that what he said next would get him slain. Deep breath and out with it...
"Want to know the real kicker?" he asked. "My chip's not working."
Giles had the grace to look somewhat alarmed by the announcement. "It ... uh, a-are you certain?"
"Whatever Buffy did with the whole zap-tastic blinding thing? Busted more than just a vessel. I think it shorted out. Hasn't given me a lick o' trouble since."
"You've tested it?"
"Couple of times." Off Giles' apprehensive look, he waved a conciliatory hand. "Relax, they were criminal sorts and I only roughed 'em up a bit, some surface bruising and the like. I haven't fed on anyone for a good long while and I don't plan to start up again." He snorted at the irony. "Buffy wouldn't like it."
"Does she know about this?" Giles was shaking his head even as he asked the question. "Of course she knows. The link."
"What link? I told you. That's not working proper either. Cut off completely this mornin' right after she contacted me."
"You mean-?"
"Went down in a great heap of undead Spike-meat. Could've exploded into cinders and not felt a sodding thing."
Giles made a face at the imagery, but was more concerned about the recent turn of events. "I was right here in the house and she didn't say a word."
"Probably didn't even realize what had happened. A tad self-centered these days is the Slayer." Spike smiled tightly, pulling out yet another cigarette and tapping the filter against the cardboard packet. "Actually, more like Nip-centered. Everything revolves 'round the little bloke. I'm out of the loop."
The Watcher, who had been observing his actions with a preoccupied air, reached over and deftly snatched the pack from his grasp.
Spike lunged after him, growling. "Oi! Give 'em over, you thieving wanker. I can hurt you now, you know."
"I also know that you won't." Giles stood his ground, his features stoic, and slipped the spoils into his pocket. Judging by the weight, Spike had stashed his lighter inside the pack, too. "The chip wasn't the only restriction placed on your demon. You have a soul."
"Do not," Spike scoffed, backing off and tucking the stray cigarette behind his ear. "Have William's antiquated Victorian morals, is all. Don't be calling it what it isn't, 'specially without Buffy to close the circuit."
Giles frowned, not having considered that. With the link acting up for whatever reason - he wasn't convinced that Spike's theory was correct on that score - the full soul was not active, and the vampire was only retaining the emotional core of his vital spirit. But then, that had been enough of a deterrent thus far... with the chip's help. Oh dear. He had a sudden urge to polish his glasses.
"Stumped you, did I?" Spike inquired smartly.
"Stop being such an obtuse prat."
The blonde vampire morphed and sneered, distorted upper lip exposing his fangs. "Obtuse isn't a problem, mate. All sharp and pointy on this end."
"You're deliberately trying to annoy me, aren't you?"
"Is it working?" Spike tipped his head, his human features sliding effortlessly back into place. It was almost as though he couldn't hold the other for any length of time, a false face that he'd long ago given up hiding behind.
"I've survived years of provocation by individuals infinitely more troublesome that you."
"The Harris whelp?"
"Among others."
Spike grinned. "You mean Buffy."
"Yes, well ... she can be quite, uh..."
"She's a firecracker, that'un. Don't know how you kept her in line all that time."
The sappy grin on his face was a sketch in absolute adoration, and if Giles had been harboring any doubts about Spike's feelings that expression alone would have changed his mind. Not that the vampire had ever been reluctant about sharing; he wore his emotions like a badge of honor, his heart on his sleeve. It was quite glaringly obvious that Spike worshipped the ground his Slayer walked on. Buffy's feelings were more of a mystery however. She loved him, yes, but was that enough?
"I learned early on that it was best to allow Buffy the freedom to make her own choices, no matter how... ill-advised."
Spike let out a delighted giggle, a sound that was both incongruous and disturbing. "Ever the polite one, eh?" He collapsed bonelessly back into position on the steps. "You love her too."
Giles sat down beside this bizarre, unpredictable creature that had miraculously become family and allowed himself a moment to reflect. "I'd dare say it's impossible not to."
"Bloody sadistic lot those Powers," Spike asserted, nodding. He tugged the cigarette out from behind his ear and twirled it between his fingers.
"I doubt they had much to do with it. Whom one chooses to love is a matter of free will."
"No such animal. Any rate, already got the prophecy laid out for us didn't we?"
Giles pursed his lips. Gotcha! "I thought those didn't apply to you," he said carefully.
The incessant twirling came to a halt and Spike glared at him from the corner of his eye. When he spoke, though, his tone was more affectionate than malicious. "Sometimes I really hate you."
"Only sometimes? I find that rather disappointing."
Giles retrieved the cigarettes from his pocket, flipped the top and offered them back to the vampire. Spike's silver lighter sat inside, surrounded by a handful of crumpled smokes, a silent peace offering.
Spike took it, but then shook his head and squirreled it away. "Best not, eh?" He stared back out at the night, contemplative now. "So, what'd you have to say to the Slayer 's'mornin' anyway?" he asked. "Never did catch the conversation."
"It was essentially a recapping of the information you already had about the Pylean prophecies. The major points I had to make were about the child."
The Watcher found himself pinned to the porch railing with an inhumanly powerful and unrelenting hand clamped around his throat and only the ghostly stirring of the air to indicate that Spike had even moved.
"You want to try that again with a little less indifference? That's my son you're talkin' about."
A meaningful squeeze of the fingers, tight enough to set off tiny panicked explosions behind Giles' eyes, and then the vampire was sitting back on his side of the steps as though nothing had happened.
Giles spluttered a while, his throat working but no sound coming out. He turned a particularly entertaining maroon shade before finally regaining his composure. The glasses came off immediately afterward.
"S-sorry," he whispered, polishing the lenses intently, not looking in Spike's direction. "Terribly, terribly sorry. I understand your reaction, of course." He swallowed painfully. "It's simply that from my standpoint Seth has remained firmly in the abstract. He is not yet real to me."
"Oh, he's real. So real that I..." Spike exhaled heavily, his posture hunchbacked and tense. His fingers flexed spasmodically, reliving the sensation of having the Watcher's life in his hands. Once again, he was troubled by his brief enjoyment of it. "Apologies for the throttling." He, too, avoided looking in the other's direction. "Gonna have an imprint there for a time. Marked you but good."
"Yes, well." Giles rubbed at a throat that was indeed showing an angry red handprint, the thumb on one side of his Adam's apple and a neat four-fingered row on the other. "As I said..."
"Yeah, as you said. What of Seth then?"
"There are a few things. For one, his name worries me."
Spike's head came up at that and he fixed the Watcher with baffled eyes. "His name? This is about his bloody name? Only decided on last night and now it's interferin' with his future?"
"I realize it's difficult to take in, but the meaning of it, Spike. You can't tell me you haven't noticed the correlation to the prophecies. That entire 'Guardian thing' that you are so dismissive of?"
"Hadn't occurred actually. To either of us." Spike's brows furrowed over eyes gone stormcloud dark. "God damn it!" He suddenly launched up and out, and into a bout of pacing, his booted stride taking him in a tight loop back and forth in front of the stairs.
"We didn't want this," he stressed, crude London accent almost obscured by the strength of his emotions. "Wanted something for the Nip that didn't involve prophecies and vamps and big lumpy demons that want to destroy the world. I figured he'd be more likely to get that if I wasn't in the picture, but this brings up a whole other..."
He trailed off, his body folding in on itself, hands fisting into the whitened hair of his temples and pulling at it in frustration. "Aargh! Buggering Christ, does nothing in this town ever go right?"
"In my experience, no." Giles winced sympathetically, both for the vampire's obvious torment and the damage he was inflicting on himself. It was rather painful to watch. "Realistically, Spike, you know that you can't shield the boy. He is destined to be special, unique. You're a vampire. Buffy is the Slayer. You live on a Hellmouth. How can any of that be perceived as normal?"
Spike gazed at him pityingly, as though the Watcher was being particularly naive. "You ever had this conversation with Buffy?"
Giles balked at the turn in topic. When had this become about him? "I beg your pardon?"
"Have you ever sat down with the girl and pointed all that out, or have you just let her make her own assumptions? 'Cause she thinks that's how it should be, you know. Family ties, tight-knit set of pals, and a boring cardboard cutout for a boyfriend." He was warming up to his subject now, arms waving animatedly. "She can't consort with the enemy, be with someone who might actually be up to the challenge. Heavens no, that's not normal. Normal." He spat the word like it was poison. "Like being the same as every other household in the country is something to aspire to - average job, white picket fence. She figures Seth's a great step on the way to that. Me, I'm... not."
"The very antithesis of normal," Giles supplied meditatively.
"Well, yeah. Startin' to see it now, aren't you. You've seen the signs."
"Basically what you're saying is that Buffy is using her friends, including myself, as an excuse to push you away?"
"Double points for the Watcher! He advances to the bonus round!"
Giles ignored the sarcasm. "Tell me, how does this fit with your theory about the Powers?"
"They were in on the Nip's inception, I know that much. The rest is her doing. And yours." Spike stopped in front of the other man, his very proximity forcing him to look up. "So, what you're gonna do now is fill me in on what the lover wiccans unearthed about this AI rot, and then I'm volunteering for the LA jaunt. Buffy needs... a bit of perspective maybe, distance. Could make the heart fonder if she dun't kill me in the meantime."
He stared intently at the Watcher. "I can't fix this, Rupert," he said soberly. "She won't let me close enough to try. I'm trusting she won't do the same to you."
~[*]~
Spike leant against the frame of the open kitchen door, early morning sunshine spilling past him onto the tiles, and hooked his thumbs into his belt.
"I'm skippin' town for a bit," he said, attempting to make light of the announcement. Like his heart wasn't damn near shattering in his chest.
"I know." Buffy kept her back to him, her spine ramrod straight, shoulders squared and defensive. "I was kinda worried when you didn't come home last night. Then I sensed you with Giles, getting the lowdown on the fairy sitch."
"Allowed yourself a peek, did you? Don't knock yourself out on my account."
She sighed and rested her hands flat against the breakfast bar as if for support. "How did we get here, Spike?"
He shrugged, wanting desperately to go and comfort her and hating himself for the weakness. "Dunno, pet. Everything was blood and peaches for a bit 'n then it all went pear-shaped."
Buffy snorted and peered at him over her shoulder. "What's with all the fruity metaphors?"
Spike managed a rueful smile. "Found it's best to stick to a theme when you're unsure of yourself. Don't want any mixed messages."
"I'll miss you." She turned to look at him then, and his eyes were drawn immediately to the curve of her belly. She seemed to have grown bigger overnight. "We'll miss you."
He tipped his head to one side. "Will you, now? Won't be 'out of sight, out of mind' then? You'll keep us in touch?"
Buffy held out her hand. After a slight hesitation he took it in his own and allowed her to draw him in. She stared at their entwined fingers for a minute, then gazed up into his eyes.
"I love you," she said. Her voice was soft and deadly serious. She didn't want to mess this up anymore than it already was. "I really, really love you."
"Yeah, I love you, too. Doesn't seem to help, does it?"
EPISODE FIVE
"Strategic Retreat"
It was late afternoon by the time Spike was squinting through the paneled glass doors of Angel Investigations, one hand raised to shield his eyes against the waning Los Angeles daylight.
Business was definitely slow. There was no one about, only the newly demonified cheerleader sitting at her desk behind the reception counter. He noticed that her hair was longer and was devoid of those unattractive blonde bits she'd taken to putting in. It was twisted in a bunch at the back of her head in an attempt to appear capable and efficient. He strongly suspected she was neither.
Cordelia glanced up when the doors swung open, preparing to greet the newest visitor to the Hyperion with professional courtesy. Her face dropped when she recognized him.
"Why are you here?"
"Oh that's charming, that is." Spike swaggered across the tiled floor with a studied nonchalance and rested his weight against the counter. "You greet all your customers that way? No wonder you're so run off your feet." He flicked through the business card display, making sure they were all suitably disordered, and then began tapping the service bell with annoying persistency.
Cordelia hurried over and slapped his hand away. "Stop it! God, you're worse than a bratty kid."
Spike's eyes instantly lost their playful gleam, darkening slightly and dropping away to stare at the floor. It was like someone had slammed the shutters closed on a sunlit room.
Cordy frowned at him. What had she said to hurt his feelings? She opened her mouth to ask, and then closed it again, puzzled. And when had she started caring about Spike?
"He is a bratty kid."
Angel was making his way down the stairs as he spoke and missed the younger vampire flinching at the casual statement before straightening his shoulders and turning to meet his Sire head on.
"Well then, Happy Father's Day." Spike plunked a battered old shoebox onto the counter.
Cordelia backed away, hands held up. She hadn't noticed that he'd been carrying anything. "Uh, it's not a bomb is it?"
He looked at her like she was profoundly stupid. "Yeah," he drawled sardonically. "It's a bomb. Nasty old Spike came to explode you into teeny fragments. It's what I do, innit? What with being evil n' all."
"You sure that chip's in your head and not on your shoulder?" Cordy asked. "Oversensitive much?"
Angel gave her a sharp, cautioning look, which she grinned at and cheekily poked out her tongue. He struggled to contain an answering grin, folded his arms and indicated the box with a jerk of his chin. "Open it."
"Open it your bloody self," Spike snapped, hopping up to sit on the counter. "What am I, your sodding manservant? A fellow comes all this way," he tapped the lid of the box with one finger, "Bearing gifts no less, and gets nothin' but the third degree for the effort."
"The third degree is standard operating procedure where you're concerned," Angel said, not the least bit surprised that Spike was already getting on his nerves. "Sometimes the fourth and fifth, too."
"And then onto the sharp, pointy objects," Spike nodded reflectively. "I remember the drill. Literally." He glanced over his shoulder at the weapons cabinet. "Nice that you keep 'em close by. Convenient."
"What's in the box, Spike?"
"Ah, so we're skipping the niceties then?" Spike surmised. "Fair enough." He pried the cardboard lid loose and revealed the contents with a dramatic flourish. "Ta-da!"
Cordelia peered in, face scrunched up in wary anticipation; Angel leant forward at the same time, resting his arms on the counter.
"Oh my God!"
Spike chuckled, finding the fact that they both spoke simultaneously pretty amusing. Especially since they only had a vague demonic bond to fall back on. Not like him and Buffy...
No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than there was an excruciatingly painful spasm in his chest, and his heartbeat lurched off into an erratic rhythm that would have done that daft drumming Muppet proud. His hands went numb, the shoebox lid dropping noiselessly to the floor when he could no longer keep his grip on it.
As before, the attack lasted just a few seconds and Spike bit the inside of his cheek and rode it out. He took a deep breath then, steadying himself, and checked to see if the others had noticed the lapse. Thankfully they hadn't.
Cordy was in hyperactive cheerleader mode, all agog and bouncing on the spot. "Oh my God," she repeated. "These are so... Where'd you get these?" She began pulling the collection of LA Gang fairy statuettes from the box with an excitement usually restricted to children on Christmas morning.
"Someone cocked up and the Magic Box got hold of 'em through a new supplier." Spike quirked an eyebrow at them. "Thought you and yours were in on it at first. Their web site has an 'AI' tag attached."
"As if!" Cordelia snorted. "We're not exactly computer literate around here. Angel doesn't even know how to turn ours on." She made kissy-faces at the Angel figurine in her hand. "Do you, baby?"
Angel looked confused as to whether she was addressing him or his porcelain imitation. "Uh... no?"
The figurine itself was relatively unscathed in spite of Spike's sporadic attempts at decapitating it, and was quite obviously the partner to the pint-sized Cordelia. The two pieces slotted together at the base, so that she was posed at his back, clad in a diaphanous gown, a clear crystal ball held in her upraised hands.
"Gladius and Jewel," Spike said.
Angel paused in the midst of tracing a contemplative finger along one of the Cordelia-fairy's wings. "What?"
"We all get fancy names to go with the fairy gig," the blonde vampire explained. "Site reckons we live in some mystic otherworld called Eldritch, and your names are Gladius..."
"Latin for 'sword'," Angel murmured. "It's where the word 'gladiator' comes from."
Spike scowled at him. "Oi! You don't see me stealin' your thunder, do you?" He entertained himself by turning the Angel figurine around so that it appeared to be attacking the Cordelia one instead of defending it. "Mine and Buffy's are like that, too," he told them.
"What? Trying to kill each other?" Angel knocked his hands out of the way and positioned the figures back the way they were.
"Interlocking, you nit," Spike huffed. "Didn't realize it straight away, but ours join together like that too. Mine at the back of hers."
"Okay, so I get the whole slash-and-hacky sword-boy thing, but why'd they call me Jewel?" Cordelia was frowning at Angel, who remained completely spellbound by her miniature likeness and the revealing ensemble it was wearing. She reached out and pinched the skin of his forearm.
He jerked back, holding the injured limb protectively. "Hey!"
Spike pursed his lips, trying to appear calm when he really wanted to burst into hysterical laughter. He didn't think he could take much more of their happy-couple routine, not while he was feeling so miserable.
"Now, now. Let's keep our focus, children," he admonished. "No time for hanky-panky." He looked speculatively at Cordy. "Accordin' to Red and Glinda's research kick, your name translates to 'jewel of the sea' or some such drivel. Probably also related to being 'precious' or 'valuable'."
Cordelia arched a brow at him. "Was that a compliment?"
"Just statin' facts, kitten."
She held up two more figurines, one in each hand. "What about these guys?"
The one in the left resembled Wesley, sitting on a toadstool with a stack of books beside him. Despite the suggestion of academic pursuits, he was in the process of arming a bow and arrow.
The figure in her right hand was undoubtedly Gunn. He was depicted as a sentry, with his feet splayed and both hands resting on the haft of a double-sided axe. As with all the others, they each had medieval-style clothing, pointed ears and delicately sculpted wings.
Spike canted his head, struck anew by the fairies' uncanny similarity to their human, and inhuman, counterparts. "Watcher Boy and the hoodlum?" He shrugged. "Pretty self-explanatory really. 'Vigil' and 'Gallant'."
Their attentions centered on the remaining statuettes. Fred, sitting cross-legged with a butterfly in one hand and a flower in the other, balancing them like a set of scales; and Drusilla in a long white dress, dancing with an unseen partner, her ethereal face turned skyward.
Spike sighed and looked at his hands. The image of Dru disturbed him on a level he didn't like to think about. "'Felicity' and 'Nebula'," he supplied softly.
"So what are they doing here?" Angel asked. "As in existing in the first place."
"Brings us to the reason I came." Spike yanked a crumpled scrap of paper from his duster pocket and waved it at them. "Got an address needs checking out."
~[*]~
"Well, well. What have we here?"
As Spike peered down at the warehouse floor the smirk on his face intensified and twisted, cheeks hollowing, creases bracketing his mouth. He tipped his head and ran his tongue contemplatively across the blunt line of his teeth. Angel had never seen him look more evil, and he was still in human form.
"What?" he asked suspiciously. That expression didn't bode well for any of them.
"Always comes down to family, dunnit?"
The younger vampire's reply couldn't have been more cryptic. Angel frowned at him. "If you don't start explaining yourself soon..."
"You'll what? Stake me?" Spike seemed intrigued by the possibility. "Might actually work these days you know."
"No, I don't know." Angel was grappling with his frustration and trying very hard not to strangle his Childe. "You haven't been forthcoming with any details. Yet."
"How 'bout a hint then?" Spike pointed at the largest of the Keratos demons assembled below them. "The immense lumpy one in charge, with the ever so attractive olive complexion? That one's female."
"So?"
"So? I know her. It's Apollyon's missus." There was no response from the other vampire. "The not-so-little woman? Trouble 'n strife, ball 'n chain, old lady? 'Er indoors? Any of this ringin' a bell?"
"His wife or mate or whatever."
"Now you're gettin' it!" Spike clapped his Sire's shoulder. "Name's Idylla."
"Idylla," Angel repeated blankly. "Isn't that Greek for 'perfect' or something?" He pulled a doubtful face. "Odd name for a demon, especially one who looks like that."
"Yes, but not the point." Spike paused for a moment, waiting to see if Angel caught on. When he obviously didn't, he let out a disgusted sigh. "Apollyon and Idylla, you great nonce. AI."
"AI." Angel did the inane repeating thing again. "Like Angel Investigations." His brows raised in comprehension. "Like the tag on the website."
"Hoo-bloody-ray!"
The blonde was so vocal in his celebration that Angel instinctively slapped a hand over his mouth, only to yank it back the second he realized what he had done.
Spike glared at him, but it was the deeper emotion lurking behind the deceptively soft blue of his irises that made Angel catch an unneeded breath.
"What is wrong with you?" he demanded. It was almost like Spike wanted to get caught.
"Other than idiotic old vampires tryin' to suffocate me, not a sodding thing."
"I don't buy that Spike." Angel shifted his weight on the catwalk, wincing when it noisily protested the movement. "Why'd you come all the way out to LA for this? Why aren't you with Buffy?"
Spike ignored that line of questioning completely, and that worried Angel more than any snarky comment he could have made.
The younger vamp crept to the end of the scaffolding, dropped onto the adjacent stairway, and disappeared seamlessly into the shadows. His elder was impressed. That level of stealth was difficult to achieve at the best of times, it had to be even harder when you had hair that shone like a beacon even in the dimmest of lights...
Spike popped back into sight, his eyes like dark pits burnt into the pale canvas of his face. "You comin' or what?"
Angel glanced back at the Keratos assembly line, busily packing the all-too-familiar fairy statuettes into crates, and was struck with the sudden conviction that something bigger was happening here - something much, much bigger. He shrugged, trying to shake the uneasy feeling, and then followed Spike out of the building.
They walked back through the industrial park toward Angel's car, arguing the whole way.
"Damn rare having a great flock of Keratos all in one place like that," Spike mused aloud. "Can't be on the up and up."
"So why would Apollyon and his wife be doing this?" Angel asked him.
"Why else but merry bushels of cash, or did you miss the whole 'mercenary' part of his job description?" Spike's voice dripped with sarcasm. "And hello? I knew them when I was evil."
"You're still evil," Angel muttered, wondering once again how Buffy put up with him. "Anyway, I thought he worked for the Powers."
Spike managed to shrug and tuck a freshly lit cigarette into the corner of his mouth without breaking stride. "You tryin' to tell me they're the good guys now?" he sneered. "Please! There's not one thing in creation that's all good or all bad, not a single solitary one. Though I got to admit Angelus came pretty damn close."
Angel came to a dead stop and glared at him.
Spike turned, spreading his arms in supplication. "What? Can't take a joke? At least you had a sense of humor back then." He whirled and continued on his way, the duster swinging behind him a virtual red flag in Angel's face.
"I have a sense of humor," he stated firmly.
Spike just graced him with the most skeptical look in his repertoire and kept moving.
"I do. I think a lot of stuff is funny..."
The younger vampire was so busy rolling his eyes at his Sire that he failed to see the lamppost directly in his path and smacked straight into it, the impact knocking him backward onto the ground.
Angel smirked. "That, for example."
~[*]~
Ouch. Buffy winced and sat up a bit straighter at the Magic Box's study table, fingertips gingerly probing the side of her head. A good-sized goose egg was developing just above her left ear.
"Stupid vampire," she muttered irritably.
~[*]~
Spike sighed, glad that he still had the breath to do it. He was on edge all the time now, waiting for the link to cut off, just waiting, and the despair about Buffy's attitude was giving way to a mordant hostility.
"I heard that, you bitch," he growled.
Angel blinked down at him, confused. "Bitch?"
Spike looked up. "I wasn't talking to you. But if the title fits..."
Angel reached out and grabbed Spike by his shirtfront, hauling him upright and slamming him bodily into the post behind; forgetting in the heat of the moment that his actions may have been affecting the very person he was trying to protect.
"Why are you suddenly calling Buffy names again?" he demanded. "You haven't done that since..." His eyes narrowed into suspicious slits and he leaned forward, one large fist twisting the fabric of Spike's shirt into a knot. He stuck out his chin. "If you've hurt her..."
Spike struggled violently, trying to gain enough leverage to shove Angel away. The larger vampire eventually moved a fraction, allowing him to wriggle free and spring back out of reach.
"Why doesn't anyone ever ask if she's hurt me?" Spike's voice was thick, anger and desperation battling for supremacy. "'S not like she's some fluttering defenseless..." He tugged at his shirt, trying to straighten where it had been wrenched out of shape. "Bloody hell, this was Buffy's... favorite..."
He trailed off, and to Angel's horror, began to cry; narrow shoulders shaking with the intensity of his sobs, tears streaking down the diamond-cut planes of his face.
Angel watched helplessly as Spike fell apart before his eyes; collapsing like he couldn't hold himself up anymore, and curling into a tight ball of misery with both arms wound protectively over his head. He rocked back and forth, blubbering inarticulately, lean fingers clawing into the white curls at the nape of his neck.
"Spike...?" Angel took a hesitant step forward, torn between exasperation and fear. Fear won. "Spike, what the hell is the matter with you?"
"They hate me," the younger vamp choked out. "They all hate me."
"What?"
"Rupert thinks I'm wrong, but I'm not," Spike mumbled. He tipped his head, peering up with one watery blue eye, a pale hand whipping out to snag Angel's coattail. "I don't want to die," he declared in the bleak, weary tones of a man already condemned. "Not now, not for a long time. I wanna see the Nip grow up, wanna see him become a proper man. Teach him stuff."
"You're not going to die." Angel hunkered down to place an awkward hand on his Childe's shoulder, attempting to offer some comfort and marveling at the fact that he even wanted to.
"I am!" Spike insisted. "I could go anytime. Had a couple of episodes while I've been here, and they keep getting closer and closer together, and lasting just that bit longer..." He sniffed and wiped at his eyes, trying to pull himself together.
"What are you talking about?" Angel asked. "Episodes of what? Are you sick? Does this have something to do with Buffy?"
Spike let out a demented little giggle at that, plopping onto his backside in the gravel, denim-clad legs sticking straight out in front of him like a big kid. He tapped the toes of his boots together, reinforcing the image. "When isn't it about Buffy, eh? Tell me that." He leant back on his arms and gazed up at the night sky. "Can't see the stars very well from here," he commented offhand. "'S better back home."
"Stop with the star talk," Angel said, easing down beside him. "You sound like Dru."
They sat in silence for a moment; each lost in their own thoughts.
"So, this dying thing," Angel prompted. "Why don't you fill in the blanks for me."
~[*]~
Three balaclava-covered heads popped up one by one along the fence of the warehouse's back lot and peered cautiously over it.
"See!" the smallest of them hissed, nudging his companions aside for a better position. He was a tiny guy, barely able to see over the dented sheet metal. "I told you!"
"Do you have any idea how big this is?" Another, deeper voice, this time from the largest and stockiest of the three. "This is big big, the ultimate biggest and baddest. Those losers at 'Myth-Arc Online' are gonna choke when they hear."
"This is Aftertime Creations?" the third asked, sounding somewhat disappointed. He was as tall as the second speaker was, but thin and weedy. "I thought... I dunno. I thought it'd be swankier or something. Aren't they rolling in profits?"
"They have to keep a low profile, dumbass," Stocky snapped, shoving his skinnier compatriot hard enough that he fell backward out of sight.
"Ow. Hey, no pushing!" Weedy complained.
"Shut up!" Tiny warned. "You tryin' to get us caught or what?"
"They don't really seem to have any security," Stocky commented, suddenly all business. "No guards or dogs." He cast a brief look around, adjusted the rucksack on his back, and then climbed up and over the fence, landing almost noiselessly on the other side.
Weedy followed close behind. Tiny had a harder time of it, scrambling to get over and then falling in a blustering heap.
"Thanks for the help, you guys," he whined petulantly, getting up and brushing himself off. "It is only because of me that we're here in the first place. You're lucky I shared data."
"Okay, so you can take all the blame when they nail our asses to the wall for trespassing," Stocky shot back. "Jeez, get a grip. We gotta stay frosty." He eyed the other two. "Right?"
They looked warily at each other and then nodded.
"You're the boss," Weedy said.
Tiny slapped his arm. "He is not! We're in this together, remember? Equals, all three of us, like... like 'the Lone Gunmen'."
"Whatever. Frohike."
There was an abbreviated round of childish smacking and a united chorus of, "Ow, stop it!"
"Girls?" Stocky interjected. "When you're done flirting."
They crept around the lot's perimeter, sporadically ducking behind machinery or various piles of junk for cover, and eventually made it to a loading bay.
Stocky gestured for the other two to stay back while he scurried toward the warehouse. Partway there he slowed to a shuffle, and then stopped dead in his tracks, rising from his stealthy semi-crouch to stand upright in the open, not unlike a rabbit caught in headlights. He hesitated for a moment, mesmerized by something the others couldn't see, and then dashed back to his partners-in-crime.
"What are you doing?" Tiny demanded. "You were almost inside."
Stocky shook his head, eyes almost bugging from the cutouts of his woolly mask. "Oh man, you're not gonna believe it!" he gasped. "I mean, breaking into this place is... is child's play compared to this." They just stared at him blank-faced. "For all you brain-dead morons that translates to come and check this out." He led them further out into the industrial estate, yet away from the warehouse.
"We're going the wrong way!" Weedy fretted. "I'm never gonna get my limited edition 'Mutant Gladius' figure now."
"Forget the lame reproductions," Stocky scoffed. "Right there's the genuine article!" He pointed up a slight rise to where two other gatecrashers were seated, lit in the silvery glow of a nearby street lamp.
There was a wondering silence as they gawked at the pair - one large and imposing with dark, intense features and wide shoulders; the other leaner and meaner, hungry-looking, with stark white hair and sharp eyes, smoke spiraling up from the cigarette in his wildly gesticulating hand. Judging by their expressions, they were in the midst of a serious conversation.
"Oh-my-God," Tiny whispered.
"Gladius and Falchion," Weedy breathed, awestruck to the point of delirium. "They look so real."
Stocky fumbled about in his rucksack for a camera. "It was in with the lock-picks, I know it was..." He pulled out a Star Wars thermos and stared at it. "Who the hell packed this? I said we didn't need snacks..."
"Oh-my-God," Tiny repeated.
"It's... it's really them, isn't it?" Weedy sounded faint now. "This is so cool. I think I'm gonna cry."
"Oh-my-God."
Stocky scowled at them. "Will you pull yourselves together? You sound like complete dicks." He held up his camera and smiled triumphantly. "This, my friends, is gonna make us rich beyond our wildest dreams."
~[*]~
"So, do you want me to talk to her?" Angel asked. He hadn't dared to look directly at Spike, fearing another embarrassing breakdown, and concentrated on his own hands. "I might be able to..."
"Knockin' down the Slayer's defenses is a mite tougher than that," Spike advised, butting out his cigarette in the dirt. "Been at it for years and only scratched the surface. All the basic brickwork's still fully intact." He grimaced at the crushed-up stub in his hand before tossing it away. "Maybe I need a bigger wrecking ball."
Angel eyed him doubtfully. "Or maybe you could try going in a back way."
"Link's already been that," the younger vampire asserted. "And it's not helped worth a candle. I've said the same the whole way along - I need to be accepted for who I am and not because of some stupid mystical thing."
He pulled at a loosened thread on his shirt, pausing to watch in askance as it continued to unravel on it's own until the button toppled off into his lap. "Huh. Shoddy workmanship that." He balanced the wayward button on his thumb and flicked it two-fingered at Angel. It missed its target.
"Anyway, as I was sayin'... It's like bein' at a party you've not been invited to, the link. Brilliant fun for a time, all warm beer n' giggles, but then you get caught out and the guests stare down their noses like you're not fit to wipe their boots on."
"A Scooby-only party," Angel reflected. "I've been there. Doesn't get any more exclusive." His lips twisted. "Though, in that light, I'd have to say Xander makes a pretty unimpressive bouncer."
Spike snorted with amusement, then froze and threw him an incredulous look. "Bugger all, did you just crack a joke?" He shook his head. "Looks like there's a bit of me old Sire left in there after all. That cheerleader bird's been a right good influence on you, hasn't she?"
"Cordy's the best." It was a simple, heartfelt statement, something that Angel believed in without a shred of doubt.
Spike had a sarcastic reply on the tip of his tongue, but kept his mouth shut and peered suspiciously over his shoulder instead. "Did you hear a noise?"
They'd barely turned to look back down the slope at the warehouse when there was a rapid succession of flashes, so bright they all but blinded the two vampires. Then came the sound of running feet - lots of running feet, charging away with all the stealth of a herd of elephants.
"Bloody hell," Spike said ardently, one hand clamped over his eyes. "I'd only just got the peepers back at full power, too." He lifted his fingers and blinked at his Sire, trying to focus. "How many'd ya make it? Three?"
Angel nodded. "Three. Headed back toward the south entrance."
They exchanged a shrugging 'to hell with it' glance and then sprinted after the culprits with a speed and grace that couldn't have been anything other than supernatural, easily tracking their prey despite the shimmery specks of light still dancing before their eyes.
For Spike, the camouflage-clad figures scrabbling to safety over the back fence suddenly became far less a priority than catching the breath that deserted him right when he needed it most. He skidded, lost his footing, and slumped onto the ground, wheezing.
Angel had almost reached the fence and was gathering himself for the simple vault over it, when he realized that Spike was no longer alongside him.
Spike had always been the faster of them, especially over short distances. He was like a cheetah that way, exerting all his energy in one great rush, striking his quarry with a vicious flurry of fists and fangs, efficient and deadly. 'I killed them, right quick'. Angel preferred to wear his victims down until they were too tired to fight back - or at least, Angelus had, back in the days when he'd actually had victims.
The younger vamp's absence spooked him more than he would have liked to admit and he ground to a halt, kicking up a spray of gravel. Pebbles pinged rapid-fire into the metal fence as he wheeled back around, immediately spotting where Spike lay curled on his side some twenty feet behind him.
"Spike?"
There was no reply save for a pained gasp and Angel frowned, his heightened senses zeroing in on the tachycardic pounding that was Spike's borrowed heartbeat. He cast one last look toward the boundary, noting the silhouette of a black van as it zoomed off into the night, tyres screaming, and then made his way back to the blonde vampire's side.
By the time he got there, Spike was sitting up and reaching for his cigarettes with shaking hands.
"God, Spike, what was that? One of these 'episodes' that you keep talking about?"
Spike fixed him with a withering stare. "What do you bloody think?" He gazed off into the distance and sighed. "Got away, did they?"
Angel hunched his shoulders and gnawed at his lower lip. How could Spike be concerned about that, after what had just happened? "Yeah, but..."
"Leave it," Spike said in monotone. "Can't nothin' be done anyway. Least I can have a proper last hurrah nabbin' those wankers."
TBC...