Part 20

“You know…..”

“Hm?”

“Weeeeeelllllll…..”

“Yes?”

“You’re not working this weekend, are you?”

“Not. At. All.” This was said with relish.

“Weeeelllll……”

Uh oh. The tone was familiar; she remembered using it on Joyce, and with dread realized what it signified. A fun-filled evening of sibling blackmail awaited her.

“This is going to be bad, isn’t it?”

“No.” Dawn said firmly. Not for me, at any rate, she thought. “I was just thinking…”

“You realize your chances of getting what you want decrease in proportion to how much you drag the suspense out, don’t you?”

“Oh, okay. Bummer. So much for the long, subtle buildup and the surprise conclusion.”

“We had that last week.”

“It was kind of fun, though.”

“What? The demon trapped in the house, the…Oh no. You don’t mean…?” Buffy looked at her sister with horror.

‘IreallyhadfuncouldIhaveaslumberpartyandthenI’llbegoodtillI’manadultpleaseplease?”

Dawn did everything but get down on her knees in front of her and clasp her hands together beneath her chin. Buffy could only blink. It was disconcerting, to say the least, to find yourself, yet again, being faced with something that wasn’t so removed in one’s past, but somehow from the opposite side. She found herself wondering why her mother had never committed infanticide. Or adolescentside. Weird.

And not fun. She had gotten the impression (coughGilescough) that being a parent involved lots of disapproval, but she had just worked a ridiculous number of hours, and had spent two Spikeless days getting rid of suspicious amounts of excess energy by cleaning the house from the basement to the attic. Odd how it was almost as hard being apart from him as it was to be around him. And the idea of a slumber party aroused some pleasant memories that didn’t involve unexpected demon visitation.

“No demons?” Buffy ordered.

“No demons.” Dawn agreed.

“No supernatural occurrences, no felonies, no, ah…”

“No, no, nope, none of those, I promise.”

“No Janice.”

“Awwwww…..”

“No whining, either. And you pay for the videos out of your allowance.”

“What about pizza?”

“What kind?”

“Pepperoni? Sausage?”

“We’ll split it.” Buffy decided, because I will be pigging out. “When?”

“Friday?” A day away. Time enough to get the stun guns, earplugs, and tranquilizers ready. Doable.

“Did I mention no demons?”

“You did, and I agreed. So we’re good?”

“Yes.”

“Can Tara come?”

“Well, it might be uncomfortable for…” Buffy trailed off, watching Dawn’s chin do a fascinating little crumple that seemed composed of equal parts rage and disappointment. And why not? It wasn’t as if Willow had really apologized, except in the moments after the car crash, and Buffy put that down to panic. The omission was bothering her, but she simply didn’t know how to approach her best friend anymore. “But the real thing is whether Tara says yes.”

“I’ll call her right now.” Dawn jumped up and ran to the phone. Buffy watched her, seeing for the first time in too long the little sister who’d used to be her own personal Barbie Doll. She didn’t think it was the idea of the slumber party that had intrigued Dawn; it was the idea of a whole evening to talk with Tara. Buffy wouldn’t have minded that herself, but she cringed at the way they were monopolizing the witch’s time. Really, they were both taking advantage of the sweet tempered girl, and using her nature against her.

Taking advantage of Tara was one thing; listening in on Dawn’s side of the conversation was quite another.

“So, hey, Tara, what are you doing tomorrow night?”

This was followed by a pause during which Dawn twisted one ankle around the other as if she really, suddenly, badly, had to go the bathroom and had reverted to six years old. The answer was evidently favorable, because she squealed, and bounced. “Cause I’m---“ She looked guiltily at Buffy, who was almost amused at the sudden attack of conscience. Wouldn’t do to offend the slumber party-giving Big Bad Sister. “We’re having a slumber party. No,” She said sarcastically, “I didn’t think it was that bad. Well, yeah. But it was nice to have everyone in the same house again. Well, it wasn’t exactly. I don’t think so.” She listened intently, and Buffy pretended to be reading the magazine she found on the coffee table. She glared suddenly at the coffee table, remembering; hadn’t Spike brought it over after he claimed to have tired of it in his crypt? She eyed the table as thought it were the table’s fault. Did he have to insinuate himself into her life the way he did into her thoughts?

Not to mention her…

She brushed that thought away promptly. When did you become such a….?

“Huh? Why? I don’t know.” Dawn turned and looked at Buffy. “Has Spike been around?”

“No, why?”

Dawn waved the phone at her, and Buffy got up and took it away. “Hi, Tara.”

“Hi, Buffy. How are you?”

“Oh, fine, you know. Bored.”

“Bored with…working sixteen hours a day. Or…?”

“Or? Oh, no…I meant, well, you know. You do, don’t you?”

“No, actually. What’s wrong?”

Buffy noted Dawn’s extreme studiousness with her school books. What a little scholar she was. Did Keys have really sharp ears? Or was that just vampires? She turned her back to Dawn, and hunched over the phone. “It’s just that he hasn’t been around for two days, and it’s been really….You know.”

“Hm. Boring?”

“Yes, exactly.” Boring. No long hours in bed, wrapped around each other, not even talking; no one else in the tub. Scary. No sudden kisses out of nowhere. No surreptitious touching, no rather frighteningly vivid memories with which to entertain one’s self at soul-sucking job. Of course, she actually had memories, but who wanted to remember stuff that was two days old? No, just boring. Not lonely.

“So,’ Tara said, “Let me sum up. You don’t miss him or anything, but it’s kind of blah without him around. Sleeping okay?”

“Fine.” Buffy snapped, then cringed.

Tara laughed. “It is okay, Buffy. When I first realized that I didn’t feel the same way about men than my cousin did---“

“You mean, you didn’t think that they were evil but financially attractive?” Buffy interjected, thinking of Tara’s cousin.

“Yeah.” Tara laughed again. “I didn’t want anyone to know till I came to terms with myself, you know? So I know what it feels like.”

Hm. Buffy thought. That was interesting. I need to come out of my closet. Or maybe it’s Spike’s closet, because he’s the one who’s so good at getting me out of my clothes. She idly considered this, then sighed, realizing that there would be no changes in clothing status till he got back. Then she remembered she was supposed to be conducting a coherent, adult conversation with Tara, not thinking rather unpleasantly wistful thoughts about a certain absent vampire.

“And I heard that.” Tara said.

“What?! Heard what? There was nothing to hear. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You sighed.”

“Did not.”

“Buffy, this is me, remember? There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Yes, there is. Buffy’s mind countered. Yes, there most certainly is. What do I feel about him? Something, dammit, but who knows? “Yes, there is, Tara. I just feel it.”

Tara couldn’t find an argument against that. “We can talk about it in depth when the kiddies are asleep.”

“Didn’t you go to slumber parties when you were a kid? They never go to sleep unless you drug them. Hey…” Buffy looked around thoughtfully, raising her voice. “I bet there’s some drugs around here. I bet if I looked really hard, I could find enough to really give them sweet dreams.”

“Hey,” Dawn objected. “They’re my friends, not your experiments.”

“Hey, share and share alike.” Buffy said. Then she turned her attention to Tara. “Tara, bring drugs. Lots of drugs.”

“Real simple, request, Spike.” Angel pointed out. “Don’t come back to LA---“

“Like you actually care.” Spike scoffed. “Besides, you know what happened to me. Can’t hurt anyone.”

Angel regarded him steadily, this contradictory offspring of his, and shook his head. If he had stopped to think about it, he would have recognized the gesture: it was one his own father had used on him many times---at least before he’d killed the old fart. “And the coat.”

“Then it’s a whole hell of a lot more money.”

“Okay, then,” Angel said, “All that or….” He sipped at his drink “…..the truth.”

“I told you the truth.”

“You never tell the truth.”

“Christ.” Spike snarled. “What a poncy, smirking, self-righteous bastard you turned out to be. Liked you better when you were Angelus.” He turned his head to look at the waitress, who mistook his look for entreaty, and consulted with the barman quickly. “But of course,” he smiled, “that was in no way, shape or form, the truth.”

“You’re hesitating.”

“Bloody hell.”

He was saved from immediate danger by the waitress, who had brought another tray of absinthe, despite the fact that of the four of them, only Angel’s was now gone. “Cheers,” She whispered, and scurried off, looking fearfully at Angel. Lorne frowned at that, then muttered his apologies, and went after her.

“I’m just curious, William,” Angel gave him a hard, flinty look, so much inferior to what Angelus was capable of doing.

“Grandchild,” Spike corrected helpfully, trying to smirk, but not quite achieving it. Wes was now glancing back and forth between the two of them. The correction didn’t buy him much time. Shitshitshitshit. Hoist by his own petard yet again. Perhaps that had been the motto on the good old family crest. Hoist by their own petards. Putting their feet in it since 1679 or… something. Dithering in the face of danger. Here he was, and what was he hesitating over? Telling Angel something he wanted Buffy to shout from the rooftops. The irony of it all.

So who was the one hesitating now? Just a jacket, after all. Nothing special there, nothing at all. Not compared to Buffy.

Angel took another gulp of the absinthe, and rolled it around in his mouth. Spike eyed him sourly, wondering what would happen if the bastard choked. Could vampires choke? He’d have to look it up. “Who is it, Spike? I mean, even if I believe you could love somebody….”

“Do you realize how Republican you sounded just then?” Spike asked, genuinely curious. “What’s next? Lecture me on the smoking?”

“No, it’ll kill you.” Angel gave him that dead-eyed stare, so different from Angelus. “Save me the trouble, maybe.” He stood up slowly, looming over the table. He’s going to go all Angelus on my ass now, Spike thought. And he will kill me. This is it---He feinted sideways toward the aisle, but Angel still caught him by the lapels, picking him up and shaking him like Darth Vader. The thought remained, clear in his head, like a note of music. He’s not Angelus; he’s just pretending. He’s got an excuse now, and he’s using it.

He’s got an excuse, Spike thought….

I’ve got an excuse.

Dawn’s got an excuse.

They stared into each other’s eyes for ages, Spike’s slowly changing expression, filling with a sort of disgusted wonder. Couldn’t be true, Angel thought. Oh no, not possible. Sarcasm, maybe. But if anyone was in a position to feel contempt, it was him, shaking this much smaller vamp over the aisle like he was trying to shake coins out of his pockets, this much smaller, lighter vamp who really didn’t have a chance of fighting back. This much smaller vamp, who, if the rumors were true, had gone through some interesting reversals, according to Dru. As he himself had.

He dropped Spike, ignoring the six or eight inches that separated his feet from the floor. No, Spike was not some sort of noble vampire, he’d never been good, never been tormented, what right had he to expect any sympathy?

He straightened his clothes, aware of many eyes staring at him. Disapproving eyes. Wes was staring up at him, with the sort of look he hadn’t seen since he’d fired them all last year. Lorne, trying to get a date with the waitress from the looks of it, looked down at the floor, as if he were embarrassed about something.

He shrugged, trying to adjust his clothes, running one hand, suddenly nervous, through his hair. He looked at Wes again. “Hey, he’s Spike. He’s dangerous.”

“He’s chipped, Angel, and you’re bigger than him.” Wes took a sip of his drink, and Spike watched the grimace that followed with great appreciation. Good lord, hadn’t any of these people ever gotten seriously drunk? He was dead and as bad as things were for him of late, he had more of a life than they did, despite lacking that crucial thing called a pulse.

“You say you’re here to help the woman you love, a human. Can’t do it any other way. Is there anybody who could confirm this?” He glanced around; Spike suddenly looking anywhere but at him, and Angel suddenly, utterly inscrutable. “I think I know who would know. I mean, really, it’s her job, isn’t it?” He sighed, considering the thought of handing off this dilemma to someone who could deal with it far better than he.

“I’ve got the solution.” Wes said quietly. “Let’s just call Buffy.”

part 21

Buffy tiptoed round the corner, nerves zinging with electricity, darting glances for exit in case the attack came. She had one exit on her left, another on her right, so she should have enough escape routes. She froze in place, breathing shallowly, in case the thing was close by and could hear her. No noise from her left. Moving one molecule at a time, she slid one foot noiselessly forward, closer to her goal. Was that a creak? She went rigid, waiting, Goosebumps rising from tension, only a couple yards away now. She listened again, Slayer sense attuned to the dangers that lurked around her. She slid forward, lithe and stealthy, closer; closer still… She could practically taste…

…the pepperoni she kept swiping from one of Dawn’s pizzas. The front door slammed down the hall from her, and she jumped several guilty-looking feet in the air, eeping as she did so. She whirled for the back door, but before she got to there, Dawn was at the kitchen door, scowling. “Buf-fy! Stop that!”

“Hey.” Buffy tried for placating, but it came out….whiney. No, that wasn’t a whine, dammit. She did not whine. “I’m just hungry.”

“You’ll spoil your appetite.” Dawn said, glad that she had one. “Besides, you always pick all the pepperonis off.”

“I paid for half those pepperonis, I’ll have you know.” Buffy pointed out loftily. She pointed a finger at Dawn, but got intercepted again, because Dawn was eying her other hand and grabbed it.

“Knock it off, I mean it. Or I’ll tell Spike that you-“

Buffy’s jaw dropped. “What---what----? Dawn!”

The doorbell rang, and Dawn, with the smirk of a successful small time crook, whirled off to answer it, leaving Buffy with several questions.

Tell Spike what?

And how?

And what all over again?

And when did Dawn get back to normal?

She cast a resentful eye toward the front hallway, then picked a pepperoni off the pizza, firmly closed the box, and popped the slice in her mouth.

“Dawn’s gonna get you for that,” Willow observed from the hallway. There was something satisfying in the guilt on Buffy’s face, she noticed.

“Hey, aren’t I entitled to a pepperoni here and there?”

“I don’t know if it’s the pepperoni bugging her so much.” Willow picked off a piece of pineapple and down the hatch it went. “It’s the sneaky part of it.”

Weak languid kisses in the shadows of the Bronze, Spike’s coat wrapped around her…like he himself was. The secret sensation of moisture between her thighs, the sensation of him only just gone…She turned white, remembering. Willow’s red face, almost a match for her hair…Once this would have been a shared conspiracy, the two of them filching something they shouldn’t have, but she didn’t like the tone of Willow’s voice. “Uh, Will---I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something….”

“Who with?”

“You, doofus.” She nodded at the back door. She took a deep, steadying breath. “Wanna huddle?”

They stepped outside, sat down on the steps. Buffy was sorry to notice how far apart Willow put herself from her, and how it didn’t seem accidental. “So.” Willow said, looking at the toes of her sneakers. “Talk.”

“Well….” Buffy said, and her throat closed up. “Well…” Oh God, how could this be happening? Once there had been nothing they wouldn’t talk about; now there was nothing they could. “The other night…?”

“Which other night?” Willow asked, still looking down.” Tuesday? Wednesday? Or I don’t know…maybe the night I saw you kissing Spike? That night?”

“Will?” Buffy asked forlornly.

“Buffy, I know…” She swallowed and quickly glanced up, then quickly away. “I know, with the magic and all….I haven’t been a good friend. I’ve..been…” She swallowed hard and stared sternly and the wooden stair railing. “But what’ s going on there?”

“I couldn’t tell you.” Buffy said. “I don’t understand myself.”

“Well, how serious is…?” Buffy flushed to the hairline, and Willow regarded this with some amazement. “You mean…you….with Spike? Spike?”

“Oh, God.” Buffy moaned, burying her face in her hands. She ran her hands through her hair, then stopped, recognizing the gesture; it was his, when he was particularly frustrated. It was almost as if he was hoping to shake some brain cells loose. And now she was doing it. Maybe it was the times she spent with her fingers in his hair…. Will, though, mistook the meaning of the gesture. “Buffy….? Really?”

“Just don’t tell anyone.”

“Anyone meaning…?”

“Xander.” Buffy said firmly. “I’ll have to explain it to him, and I just can’t explain it to myself.”

“Buffy, do you love him?”

“He loves me.”

“But do you…?”

“I don’t know!” She burst out. “It just feels so different! I can’t tell what it means, it just feels so strange, so…new…I don’t know what to think. I just…” she shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know what this is.”

I didn’t understand that I didn’t think of men the same way my cousin did, Buffy’s mind prompted. “I never felt this way about someone like Spike…”

“Angel?” Willow supplied thoughtfully.

“He had a soul,” Buffy pointed out sadly. “So he was …different.” She concluded lamely. She couldn’t finish the thought precisely. Angel had a soul; Spike did not.

Spike has you, her subconscious prompted.

“So he’s different. Not the same species.” Buffy continued.

“Vampire.”

“Yes.”

“But vampire with a soul.”

“Right.”

“As opposed to chipped vampire.”

“Yes.”

“Totally different animal.” Willow agreed, not seeing Buffy wince. “Didn’t feel the same at all?” She prodded hopefully, trying to be useful, trying to help. “I mean…You know, the way you felt about him…?”

Not at all, Buffy thought. Lots of torment and denial; with Spike the only denial was in front of her friends. Was it just the difference between the two vampires, or was the difference in her? She only knew everything felt new with Spike around, as if she’d never felt anything before, tasted anything before…”I mean, vampire, right? Impossible. Angel was the exception; one-time thing. Once in a lifetime. For me, anyway.” She brushed away memory of their uncomfortable little meeting.” But this…If he weren’t a vampire, if he weren’t Spike….” She swallowed. “It would be…perfect.” She whispered.

Willow looked at her, her face worried, then reached out across the bitter months, and brushed Buffy’s hair out of her eyes. “It’s okay, Buffy.”

“You’re just saying that because it’s in the Best Friend Bylaws that you have to do that.”

“No.” She said softly. “I’m just glad we talked. I could tell something was bugging you; you had to come out with it.”

Come out with it? Buffy thought with a panic. Come out? That was what Tara had said.

“Hey…” Tara poked her head out the door. “Uh….” She hitched her shoulders up with tension, then regained her composure. “Hey, Buffy.” Her voice dropped. “Willow.”

“Oh, Tara, it’s so cool.” Willow jumped to her feet. “It’s so neat.” She gestured at Buffy, who was moving from puzzled to a little annoyed. “Buffy just came out.”

“Uh…what?”

“Well, of course, Spike,” Wes said with great, adult, calm. “Buffy should know what’s going on, shouldn’t she?”

“None of her business, innit?” Spike glanced between the Watcher and the nemesis. “Don’t exactly go to the tanning salon with her, do I? Punches me in the face every chance she gets.” Not to mention the shagging. He drummed his fingers on the table, wishing he had a watch to look at so as to give the impression he was completely without a care or time to care. As if the thought that they would discover that he and Buffy wereohI’mdeadhaving sex didn’t make him wonder what it felt like to get staked. Well, actually he did know that part, the World’s Biggest Slice of Wonderbread having staked him with plastic the one time. He’d heard---the sort of tales that got told around campfires (or microwaves, waiting for the blood to heat)----that being staked, before you were dust, felt like being burnt alive.

Kind of like what if felt like when he and Buffy….He jerked his thoughts back to Wes and Angel, wondering what they’d seen, what they’d noticed while he gazed off dreamily in the distance. Was it that obvious? Did he look all wussy and poetic now? They were frowning thoughtfully at one another, prompting a time-wasting smirk from Spike. “Want me to leave for a moment? Have something to discuss?”

“No,” Angel said tightly. “Just something to do.”

“We’ll have to call her.” Wes said, with more than a little reluctance.

“Uh, let’s not and say we did?” Spike suggested. The badness that would result from this phone call could not be contained by his brain cells; it would be like a nuclear blast, spreading debris over whole continents.

“What’s the matter, William? Afraid the Slayer’s going to slay you? Oh, she doesn’t know, does she? Wonder what she’ll do when she finds out. I mean, who could it be? If you’d ever actually gotten anywhere with whoever this woman is, you’d be bragging to anybody who’d listen.”

Spike forgot his apprehension for a minute, and just looked at Angel. He shook his head slowly. It had always been Angelus who bragged of his conquests---or massacres, was the better word. Never did like a fight unless the odds were on his side. And women? Who did he himself have to brag about, Dru? How could you brag about poor Dru, when the slightest kindness did her in, the poor twisted little thing. Angel was smiling unpleasantly, certain he’d struck a nerve. “Unless you have no hope of success with her? Have you even told her you’re a vampire? Too scared to?” Spike shook his head again, and Angel, mistaking the gesture for a no rather than what it was ---a negation of him----continued to needle. “Who is it, Willow? The lesbian witch? Or maybe it’s Joyce…that’d be more your style, William, pining after someone you can’t have because she’s dead…”

Spike flashed to his feet before he was even aware of it, but Angel stayed sitting, completely cool, as unaffected by the other’s vampire’s anger as he was by the errand that had brought him here. This has been entertaining but it really has gone on too long. Finally, having made his contempt more than clear, he languidly stretched to his feet, reaching out and dusting off imaginary specks on Spike’s collar. “Time to decide, Spike. What’s the truth? Your little girlfriend, does she know what you are? Or does she even know you exist? You’re not the Big Bad any longer, you know? So what are you? The…Medium Bad? “

“Sod off.”

“Afraid not. You come here, into my town, demanding what, my money? and…I’m supposed to hand it over? Why? Because I feel sorry for you? Maybe I feel sorry for your…” He chuckled unpleasantly.”….for your little girlfriend. If she’s your girlfriend. Because how could any human love you?”

Spike lashed out, but before he’d even extended the punch, the pain bloomed in his head, twisting his features with anguish. He sank back down onto the bench. Wes and Angel exchanged glances. “Right, then.” Wes said. “Do you have any change?”

Buffy cast a gimlet eye at the arriving guests, while Tara sent a few sideways glances her way. “What?” Buffy demanded out of the corner of her mouth.

“You gonna check ID’s, too?”

“That’s a thought.” Especially seeing as how I wouldn’t put it past Janice to being a demon in her own right. “You know what we need?”

“Hm?” Tara asked, smiling at a wide-eyed Sophie.

“A demon detector.”

“I was going to go for another bathroom, but hey…. Nice to have at airports.”

“It would so simplify my life.”

Then again, maybe not, as Anya, former demon, appeared at the door with…Oh. No.

“Oh, no, I don’t think so.”

“She’s in town for the wedding.”

“She locked us all in the house.”

“Oh, that.” Hallie dismissed this little contretemps with an airy hand wave. “That wasn’t personal.”

“It was to me.” Buffy said through tight lips.

“But, sweetie, you’re the one who had the vampire at your birthday party. What’s another demon?”

Ha! Buffy thought. That only works if you’re a bleached blonde vampire with a certain wit and a wicked tongue. The last two were not necessarily synonymous. She crossed her arms resolutely on her chest, and glared at the demon. “You’re not just another demon,” She pointed out. “You think I’m a bad older sister to Dawn. What are you going to do, hang around and wait till someone wishes something?” She glared at Anya, who shrugged. Then an idea visibly struck the former demon, and she held out a hand to Hallie. “Give it up.”

“What? A cover charge?”

“The amulet.”

Hallie looked more aghast than any demon who didn’t intend mischief should have looked, giving Buffy a certain satisfaction. After all, at the very least, she was protecting the members of N’Sync from a room full of teenage girls. She considered for a moment how much fun it would be to speculate on what form that would take, then shoved that thought aside as being very unworthy.

At least till she could discuss it with Dawn, later.

Sulkily, the demon gave up the amulet, which Anya pocketed without a second glance. “So,” She said with great satisfaction. “Where are the cookies?”

The phone rang.

Spike tried the puppy dogs eyes look at Wes, but it just wasn’t working. Wes, covering the receiver with one hand, gave the vampire’s chest a shove. “Push off, Spike, I need to concentrate.”

“It’s concentrating that I don’t want you to do.” Spike glanced back at the table, where Angel had spread out, almost triumphantly across one side of the booth. He had one arm stretched along the back as if he owned the place, and the fingers of one hand were leisurely tapping in time to the music of the jukebox. Spike frowned. Angel didn’t like music much. What was…?

“Hello, is Buffy there? It’s Wesley.” There was a pause. “Wesley Wyndham-Pryce Buffy’s former Watcher. Yes, I was.” Another, lengthier pause followed, during which Wes crooked the phone on his shoulder, took off his glasses and wiped them. Spike eyed the stubble of a neglected beard, and wondered what that was about. Weren’t Watchers supposed to be all neat and tidy? He made a grab for the phone, but noticed two things simultaneously: Wes had the plunger pressed down on the phone, and was staring past Spike’s shoulder with enormous eyes.

Spike whirled around, just in time to see Angel’s eyes slowly cross and assume an extremely befuddled expression. Then he slowly rolled forward till his head banged on the table. There was a baritone chuckle, a sigh, and then all was silent. His own knees just about gave way; no more harangues, no more lectures, no more Ohpoormewiththesoul. Then he remembered Wes. He turned around to find the Watcher replacing the phone receiver back in the cradle and meeting his gaze with a certain---and, he felt, rather inappropriate---cockiness. He nodded at the phone. “What was that?”

“Thought I needed to stall him.” Wes nodded at Angel. “And what was that?”

Smile gave him an entirely appropriate smug grin. “I had the waitress put all the laudanum that should have gone into my drink into his. So I got half and he got twice as much. “ He turned and waved cheerily at the girl, who at that moment was stroking the silk of Lorne’s tie very gently, like it was a pet. Who knows, maybe it was. Lorne perked up right away and came sauntering over. “So it was a success?”

“Depends on how big a hangover he has tomorrow.” Spike shrugged. He turned to Wesley. “Why didn’t you…?”

Wes looked away. “Because it’s Buffy, isn’t it?” He scrubbed his glasses vigorously, ignoring the way Spike’s jaw dropped.

“You won’t---You can’t…” Spike’s throat abruptly turned dry. “If he finds out…”

“He won’t find out from me,” Wes said quietly.

“Why did you…?”

“It occurred to me, that a vampire can be a very useful ally. Or spy. Or lots of things.”

All three of them looked at each other, then Lorne cracked up. “That’s it, honey, no more James Bond movies for you. You get all frustrated after you watch them. “

“I was completely serious.”

“I’m sure you are, sweetness. But see, I just thought how sweet it would be, two lovelorn kind of ….guys…..joining forces.” He sighed loudly, affixing a wistful look on his face. Given that he was green, had horns, worn an outfit that made him look like an Irish pimp, and was actually gazing wistfully at a bar full of tacky American vintages, this was an impressive feat. It also gave Wes time to look off in the distance, and Spike an opportunity to examine the toes of his boots.

“I’m a former Watcher.” Wes pointed out stiffly. “And I am the director of this company, so I decide what gets done with petty cash.” He looked sternly at Spike.” This is not a gift. This is a retainer.” He glanced at Angel, face down in the booth. “And it just seems practical that we do this on a cash basis due to certain….tensions…That’s all. Now. Shall we?”

Part 22

They manhandled Angel out to the car, but Spike acted as a sort of UN observer: he absolutely refused to touch him, so of course the only thing left to was observe and critique. They didn’t do enough dropping, in his opinion. Also, there were some severe deficiencies in the head-banging department, too. Finally, they dumped the other vampire into the backseat with a satisfactory thud, and then headed back to the hotel, the three of them jammed into the front seat. Lorne didn’t help matters; he sat in the middle and hummed show tunes, occasionally breaking into snatches of “It’s May.”

This was not helpful.

Wes kept glancing into his rear view mirror as if he expected Angel to revive suddenly in the back seat. Spike saw that and grinned at him. “Uh, Watcher? You, ah, do realize that if he suddenly wakes up, you won’t be able to see him in that mirror, right?”

Wes flushed suddenly, then recovered enough to give him a haughty look. “I’m well aware of that. But I could see some things shifting if he wakes up.”

“Why is it so important?”

“There was an incident-was it last year? Or so, I forget precisely when. Angel was drugged, and it induced a false…euphoria. He became Angelus for a while. I’d like to get him home before that happens---if--if---- that happens---- so he can be restrained.”

Hm. Interesting, Spike thought. “Was this when he set Dru and Darla on fire?” He asked pointedly.

Wes pretended to be preoccupied with passing another vehicle and ignored the question. Hm again, Spike thought. So he went all Angelus and that wasn’t how Dru and Darla almost got toasted. What an interesting little tidbit that was. What was he when he decided to go all Firestarter?

They screeched to a stop in front of the Hyperion, and again Spike watched as they maneuvered the larger vampire up the steps. Dead weight indeed. And how disappointing; if it had been him, he would have at least drop kicked him a few times. Lorne must have picked up on some of that, because he insisted on taking Angel to his room, and presumably tucking him in. Spike was amused by an image of the demon attempting to put Angel into his pyjamas. For a moment, he entertained himself by speculating on Angel’s choice of nightwear. After all, he certainly couldn’t wear the coat to bed.

Wes poked his head out of the office, and beckoned at him. Spike, remembering that he was about to be given a fair amount of money, suddenly tried to remember what gratitude was. Certainly, there was that feeling he got when Buffy touched him anywhere, but he didn’t think Wes would appreciate that particular expression if confronted with it. He peered around the doorjamb, hand scratching uncomfortably at the back of his neck, right about where Buffy usually put her hand when she kissed him. With a practically audible snap, he wrenched himself back to whatever it was that Wes was saying.

“How much do you need?”

“Well, house payments, for a few months at least…”Spike thought. In truth, he hadn’t planned for this, and now, confronted with his success, he had no idea what to ask for.

“What are you going to do?” Wes asked curiously.

“Thought I’d, you know, get some information from Dawn, make a few payments, take a bit of the heat off…” Spike trailed off uncomfortably as he felt Wes’ eyes on him. “Dawn will do that for me.”

Wes shook his head, his eyes blank and amazed. “You know, she won’t even think it’s you when she finds out someone’s paid some of her bills.”

Spike just shrugged. Big deal. Just as long as he could crawl into her bed, and this time not have to leave while she tried to persuade him to stay.

“What if she thinks it’s Angel?” Wes said gently.

“What if she doesn’t?” Spike countered. “They met after…she came back, you know. She won’t talk about it. And he set Dru on fire, and you already told me he wasn’t Angelus at the time.” He stared away with some bitterness. “What did he do after she died?”

Wes looked away.

Spike scowled at him, even though he wasn’t the problem. “What’d he do, go party? Sounds like him.” He refrained from pointing out the misery of those 147 days. “Guess it wasn’t a timeless thing for him, like he told her, was it?”

“Spike…I would like to ask something.”

Spike nodded his assent, expecting something technical, but that wasn’t what he got. “She doesn’t love you at all?”

“No, it’s not like that.” He answered. “There’s something there.” He scrubbed his hand through his hair. “Not sure I can handle it, if it does happen, you know? I know it, know she doesn’t love me, but sometimes I think I see it, in her eyes, it’s just that she hates saying stuff like that.” He glanced down at the floor, unable to meet the Watcher’s eyes. A Watcher and a vampire, talking about love. He wasn’t sure if it was a good thing, but he did know one thing; it was extraordinary, and Buffy was the catalyst for it. “Putting it into words---not her strong suit.”

“You were a poet.”

“When I was a human.” Spike thought about it, then added, “That’s what I feel like…when…..” He had to look away. “You?”

Wes shrugged uncomfortably, leaning forward on his elbows on the desk, unwilling to answer, but unwilling not to; how could he not, when the vampire had been nothing but honest? He was momentarily silenced by the idea of it all; sharing confidences about love with a vampire. He sighed, swallowing a lump in a dry throat. “She…uh….she loves someone else.”

“Then she’s not for you.” Spike said quietly. He thought of Dru, always willing to drop him at the crook of Angelus’ little finger. “Know what it’s like, I do. Won’t make that mistake again. It’s like you’re not there, when there’s someone else. She’s---she’s---aware---of me. I come up behind her, and she…senses me. Feels me. I know what that’s like, don’t I? That’s how I felt with…this…”His voice got very soft.”…this woman I loved. I felt her, when she was around me, like the air had a tide and she shifted through it like a current.” He shrugged with embarrassment. “Never felt that way about anyone till Buffy.” Not even Dru, he thought regretfully, but he wasn’t sure that was a bad thing. Dru had been so dependant on him, but Buffy could get along quite well without him, he knew. Nevertheless….She was still there, wasn’t she? Not like she was going with the first human who came along.

“Can’t help what I feel.” Wes said ruefully.

“No, you can’t.” Spike said thoughtfully. “All you do is ride it out. Like an undertow, mate, that’s what it is. You fight it, it will drag you under. Just have to go with it, because you’ll use up all your strength against it, and it won’t matter. It’ll kill you.”

Wes nodded silently, looking at his desk. Spike looked at him soberly. “Who?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Who is it? You used to be sweet on Cordelia, didn’t you?”

“Oh, that…” Wes brushed that infatuation away. “Things were so different then.” He considered it for a minute, the pleasant certainty of that crush, crumbled in a heap on a library floor. It was almost sweet, compared to the twist he felt in his gut every time he looked at Fred. He knew he should try and feel glad for her sake, but he just couldn’t. The fact that Gunn obviously treated her like fine china only made him feel guiltier. “No, it’s not her. Not that she’s not a wonderful woman.”

Aha! Spike thought. She’s still in love with the father of the kid. Isn’t that the same old story? “You have to give it time, Wes.” He said. “’Course, what do I know, I’m a vampire.”

Wes blinked at him. “Spike, I’m beginning to think you might be as unique as Angel himself.”

“Uh, yeah.” Spike brushed that away. “Well, that I am, but not for the sort of thing I’d like. William the Bloody has reverted to his true roots. Next thing you know, I let the hair go, start listening to harpsichord music, ‘f you can call it that music. Please stake me if I do, would you? I don’t mind being a-a---house pet--- quite so much as I mind the idea of being…a….tacky house pet.”

Wes blinked at this, having no idea how to cope with a vampire suffering an identity crisis. He’d figured he’d reached the limit of his adaptability with the whole vampire-in-love thing now, but now here was something else. Really, he needed to write this stuff up to truly cope with it.

“Ah---I’m sorry. Spike, how much was it that you wanted?”

Lorne flipped the blankets over Angel’s prone form and considered that maybe being a vampire wasn’t a bad thing. No snoring, for example. Definitely a plus. On the other hand, to adequately nurture a grudge and a desire for retribution, it appeared there was nothing like a centuries-long life span to truly give one an attitude. He’d of course been around for the whole half Angelus thing the previous year, but unlike the others, well, he hadn’t found it depressing. At first. Killing lawyers? Well, darn. Now, he hadn’t had anything personally against Dru or Darla, but nevertheless, vampires, that whole thing, why couldn’t they go vegetarian or something? Or pick off obnoxious people? So, again, there, not exactly feeling the dismay. It had taken him a while, he admitted it, but maybe it had been the cumulative effect, but finally it had gotten to him. Still, wasn’t it unreasonable of well, some people, to expect Angel to be…so…well…angelic…all the time? There was some poetic justice there somewhere, and he really didn’t know quite where.

He was good at dealing with..stuff; had to, with his abilities. Nevertheless, he found tonight to have left a rather unpleasant taste in his mouth. He’d read Spike, and never before had Angel doubted him. It was as if Angel had changed the rules just for this one night, this one case, this one vampire. It wasn’t like him, although it was perilously close to last year’s Angel for his taste.

He’d heard all about Spike; he’d heard about Buffy. He knew about the chip as well. What he just couldn’t figure out was how the one affected the other. He had no doubt about Spike, but he didn’t know nearly enough about Buffy to make up his mind.

Why do you care? His subconscious asked.

Because one lovesick vampire was more than enough.

And, maybe, just maybe….He sighed heavily, unwilling to bring that thought to its sappy conclusion. He hadn’t had nearly enough to drink for that. A vampire in love with a Slayer? He looked at Angel again. So different this time around, wasn’t it?

Spike poked his head in. “How’s the poofter?”

“And people say you don’t care, you crazy kid.” Lorne adjusted a pillow, and Spike wondered how he could resist the temptation to press it over that face. Of course, it wouldn’t kill him, but it would mean one didn’t have to look at him.

“I don’t, actually,” Spike said. “But there was something.” He swung the bag he’d brought with him, and out came a cascade of Playboy magazines, in a satisfying flurry of pages. Angel did not so much as flinch. Spike wondered what it would be like when he woke up; he was sort of sorry he’d miss the fallout, but not if it kept him from Buffy for any longer than necessary.

“It’s interesting you stopped by.” Lorne pointed out.

“I needed to do some more gloating.”

“Sure it wasn’t something….more…compassionate?”

“Uh…Yeah.” Spike fixed him a perfectly balanced scowl in which scorn, amusement, and disdain were evenly mixed. “I just wanted to make sure he hadn’t thrown up all over you.”

“Oh, ack.” Lorne said, backing away. He brushed off his hands unconsciously, turning Lady MacBeth for an instant. Then he tiptoed gingerly around the bed. “Well, thank you very much, Mr. Smarty Pants. Just for that, I’m coming with you.”

“So…I thought we were leaving.”

“Just one more thing I have to do.”

“Are you going to tell me what that is?”

With that, Spike slowly, patiently, turned his head and glared at him. Lorne was impressed by the deeply annoyed quality of that scowl, but on the other hand, Angel had the patiently-enduring-thing perfected to a more subtle degree. Spike looked as if the next notch up his particular ladder of pique might involve ripping off heads. Angel always looked as if he were going to sigh repeatedly, then get tight-lipped, and finally threaten to rip off heads. He wondered if impulsive head-removal was just something one outgrew, like impulse shopping; after all, Angel had at least a hundred years on Spike in the age category. How did vampires mature, anyway?

Spike yanked the car over to a parking spot in front of a store, and leaped out, duster practically flapping with glee. Lorne shook his head. What on earth was going on in that bleached blonde head? Was it the peroxide?

Spike pegged the clerk’s look instantly: Huh, leather good, but attitude sort of scary. Customer or potential robber? Let’s walk in front of one of the fitting mirrors, he thought, and really freak this guy out. “I need something that looks like this.” He said, gesturing, and watched as the clerk visibly relaxed. “Except,” he savored the thought, “in the smallest size you’ve got.”

It didn’t take long; the clerk was only too eager to placate him and then see him on his way, his unease in no way alleviated by the way Spike haggled over the price. Oh, for the good old days, when he’d dealt with indecisive twits like this by making them dinner instead of commission. Bastard. Damned if he was going to pay that much for something he’d never use.

Finally, he intimidated the git enough for the purchase to be rung up as a sale item, then snatched the bag and raced out. Just closing time: how fast could he drive, and he still had a final stop to make. He completely ignored Lorne’s skeptical expression as he performed a fast and highly illegal U-turn, then went screeching back to the Hyperion.

“Hey, I’m not coming back here just yet, sweetie,” Lorne pointed out.

“Relax, leprechaun.” Spike muttered, grabbing the bag and dashing back in the building. “Just one last thing….”

Careful now, he tiptoed up the stairs, looking in both directions at the landing, checking for noise. Nothing. He went to Angel’s room and was pleased to see his grandsire both unattended and still deeply unconscious. Even better. Once he’d not have hesitated to get revenge for a century of irritation both so extreme and so petty he’d have called it human. Now he had a better plan…

He pulled the new coat out of the bag, ripped off the price and size tags, and threw it over the sleeping form. Bastard wanted a coat? Well, then see if this one fit. At least the size was appropriate….Soul or not, Angel always had been nothing but an extra small.

Light-hearted again, and light-headed with the thought of seeing Buffy again---how many centuries had it been?----he sauntered out to the car, duster swaying around him. He slid behind the wheel, sighed with as much contentment as a vampire could muster, and then cranked up the CD player to The Ramones.

“Don’t you dare sing.” Lorne said.

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