Title: Enemy Incognito

Author: Wynn

E-mail: effulgent_sun@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: I don’t own Buffy, Spike, BtVS, etc. If I did I would be very rich and have the opportunity to speak to James Marsters daily. Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox, WB, UPN, etc. own the characters. I’m just borrowing them for entertainment.

Chapter One: Last Resort
By: Wynn

He hated the cold. He hated everything about it. How it seeped into your bones, numbing everything until you felt absolutely nothing. Until you felt like you were nothing. He hated winter and he hated snow; he didn’t like ice cream or popsicles or iced tea, not because he didn’t like tea, but because of the ice. He never took cold showers, and he loathed walking on the cold floor barefoot. He hated the cold, but it was all that he had. All that he could be. Not that he hadn’t tried to be warm. He had. He was always in constant motion, a blur of movement, of thought, and of sound desperately trying not to be cold.

Then one night after living in the cold for so long, he found warmth in the most unexpected and unlikely place. He looked up and saw the sun staring down at him. Mesmerized by the radiance, he didn’t feel cold. Not at that moment or any after. He touched the sun and was consumed by the heat. The night sky burned, the hard earth scorched, and he came alive when the sun reached out and touched him too. Passions ignited from their first touch, escalating into a fiery dance, a spontaneous combustion that had rocked the world. Unrestrained, the warm and the cool, the fire and the ice, the sun and the moon had exploded in front of them, between them, and within them, destroying them both. He had left his sun and his sun had left him, probably never to return. At least not without one hell of a fight. But that was what he was good at, fighting. Everything else he royally bollixed up.

His tendency to screw everything up is what had sent Spike to Africa. He was tired of the confusion, of the misunderstandings, of the one step forward-two steps back that existed between himself and Buffy. His last attempt to salvage their relationship had horribly deviated from his original intention, and he had hurt Buffy in a way he had sworn to himself he never would. He snapped under the pressure of the mixed signals and half-truths, leaving Buffy shaken and angry and himself guilt ridden and confused. Desperate for a change from the ‘can’t be a monster, can’t be a man,’ Spike had taken fate by the balls and committed himself to the only option he could think of to solve the dilemma: the return of his soul.

Which is how he had ended up in the dark African cave decorated with the brutal primal art and inhabited by the powerful demon with the glowing eyes that had placed his hand on Spike’s chest and said, “Very well. We will return your soul.” Pain raced through him, pain unlike anything he had ever experienced. He felt as though he was burning and freezing at the same time. He heard himself scream, felt his throat go raw from the continuous scream of agony. The demon’s hand rested on his chest for a moment, for eternity, before it lifted itself off. Spike collapsed onto the cold stone floor, fists clenched, tears streaming down his face. He inhaled harshly. The demon moved past the prone vampire and said, “We have fulfilled your request,” as he disappeared into the shadows of the cave. Curled into a fetal position, Spike closed his eyes and muttered a weak “Bloody hell” before slipping into unconsciousness.

***

Awareness drifted slowly through Spike’s mind. He opened his eyes and attempted to move, hissing sharply at the bolt of pain that shot through him. Remaining still, he glanced at his surroundings. The cave was dark, and the demon was nowhere in sight. Gritting his teeth, Spike slowly stretched his body from the fetal position and rolled onto his back. He lay on the cold stone floor, panting, adjusting to the overall ache that permeated his body. Spike muttered another “Bloody hell” before pulling himself into a sitting position. He glanced down at his hands, noticing that the burns from his fight with the fire demon were gone. A quick search of the rest of his body revealed that the rest of his battle wounds had healed during his unconsciousness too.

Spike stood, bracing himself against the cave wall. His muscles protested as he began to walk out of the cave; he stumbled over to his boots and shirt, slipping the boots on over his feet and leaving them unlaced. The African sun was setting as Spike reached the mouth of the cave. He squinted his eyes against the dying light and waited for night to emerge. ‘Wanker Angel sure as hell never mentioned getting a soul would feel like this. Feel like I’ve been run over by a bloody tank.’ He pulled his shirt over his head and laced his shoes as the last remnants of sunlight disappeared, and he walked out of the cave into the African night.

Bonfires were ablaze in the nearby village. Spike could hear the conversation of the natives as he bypassed the settlement, not wanting another confrontation with the tribesmen. He doubted they would have interfered with his leaving, but he didn’t want to test the theory. The moon hung brilliantly in the sky, illuminating the path that led from the village to the ruins of a temple. The roof of the temple had collapsed and a vast array of flora and fauna had taken up residence in the stone ruins. Spike ducked under an archway and entered the structure, eyes searching the shadows. A sound to his left caused him to drop into a fighting stance. He heard a chuckle and relaxed his posture. A small figure emerged from the darkness; he was dressed horribly, a lime green shirt and brown pants covered by a black jacket. A bowler hat completed the eclectic ensemble.

"Kinda jumpy there soul boy?” Whistler asked as he moved into the moonlight. He looked at Spike; his eyes squinted as he examined the vampire’s face. “Hmm… better than Angel was the night he was cursed with his soul. He broke down in tears the second he remembered everything he had done as Angelus.”

“I know what I’ve done. I didn’t go through all of this to feel guilty for what I’ve done in the past. I can’t change anything, so brooding about it like Peaches is pointless.” He glanced down at his hands and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, his pale blue eyes glistened with unshed tears. He said quietly, “I won the soul to stop me from doing any more harm… from causing more pain.”

Whistler stood quietly as the blonde blinked away the tears. After Spike had left Sunnydale on his motorcycle, the Powers That Be dispatched Whistler to intercept him. He caught up with Spike halfway to Los Angeles and offered to help him in his quest for a soul. Convincing the unstable vampire to come with him had been difficult for the immortal. Spike was irrational, focused only on gaining his soul; after a few dodged blows and a few persuasive pieces of information, Spike had calmed. He listened patiently to Whistler’s description of the African cave and its glowing eyed demon, and, after a moment of contemplation, he had swung at Whistler again and took off on his motorcycle. It was another hour before the immortal intercepted Spike again. Exasperated at the demon’s persistence and desperate to regain his soul, the blonde vampire agreed to accompany Whistler to Africa, under the threat of ripping the immortal’s head off if the trip resulted in nothing. Whistler had only smiled and opened a portalnext to the deserted highway. The pair stepped through and emerged under the night sky inside of the dilapidated temple. Whistler pointed down the path, sat on a stone bench, and watched Spike stalk out of the temple.

“Are you ready to go back? There are big things waiting for you.”

Spike shook his head. “Change of plans mate. I’m not going back to Sunnyhell yet. Need to… talk with someone first.”

Whistler stared at Spike, who glared in return. “Are you sure about this? Big stuff’s going down… they might need you there.”

Spike arched an eyebrow. “They never need me. What good can a demon do?”

“More than you think.” Whistler sighed. This vampire was always unpredictable. After all, it wasn’t everyday a soulless demon wanted the return of his soul. He should have expected Spike to change the plan. “So where do you want to go?”

The corner of Spike’s mouth twisted up into a small smile. “L.A.” A visit to the poof was long overdue.

***

The interior of the Hyperion was like a tomb. Quiet and dark, with the slightly abandoned feeling that comes from a loss of activity. Spike stepped into the lobby, letting the door swing shut behind him. He was dressed in his clothes from Africa, black jeans, black long sleeve T-shirt, and black boots. His blonde hair was a mass of riotous curls on top of his head. He examined the darkened lobby. There was a light emanating from the office behind the lobby desk; Spike crossed the entrance hall, senses outstretched for signs of activity. He picked up a business card from one of the small stacks and read the name: Cordelia Chase. ‘Looks like the cheerleader’s still here. Surprised the Hair Gelled Wonder hasn’t driven her off yet.’ Spike didn’t recognize the names on the other business cards: Wesley Wyndam-Pryce and Charles Gunn.

He entered the small office. A haphazard pile of case files lay on an oak desk, along with opened books and the lighted lamp. File cabinets lined one wall, and two leather chairs were placed in front of the desk. Spike sat in the chair behind the desk and propped his feet on the wood surface. He was apprehensive of coming to the hotel and asking for Angel’s help. Their last encounter hadn’t been the most friendly, what with the torture session over the Ring of Amara. ‘A lot’s happened since then though. He’s probably forgotten about it.’ Spike grimaced as he recalled his own torture at the hands of the hellgod Glory. ‘Then again maybe not. Probably should tell him about me and Buffy from across the room. Better yet from across the planet.’

“May I help you?”

Spike jumped out of the chair, knocking it on to its side. He was so lost in thought of the various tortures Angel would be likely to use on him he hadn’t noticed the approach of the thin brunette. The girl took a step backwards at Spike’s sudden movement and looked at him apprehensively. She had long, curly brown hair and big eyes hidden behind a pair of glasses; she wore a flowing dress and a pair of sandals.

“I’m sorry,” she continued softly, “but we’re not taking on any new clients right now. We’re kind of short staffed at the moment. I could recommend another detective agency for you to use if you’re interested.”

"Who are you?”

She stared at him for a moment, thrown momentarily by his directness. “My name is Fred. I work here at Angel Investigations. Your name is…?”

“Where’s Angel?”

Fred glanced down at the floor. “He’s… uh… he’s out at the moment. I could take a message for you, but it’ll probably be a while before he gets back to you.”

Spike tilted his head to the side at the girl’s obvious lying. He wondered where the brooding wanker had run off to this time. “What about the cheerleader? Does she know where he is?”

“Cor-Cordelia? She’s… uh… on vacation.”

Spike smirked. “Vacation, huh? How about the Irish guy? Is he on vacation too?”

Fred looked at him, puzzled. “Irish guy? Do you mean Doyle? He died a few years ago.”

The blonde vampire sighed. He picked up the fallen chair and slouched into it. He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. “So what you’re saying is Angel’s out, Cordelia’s on vacation, Doyle’s dead, and you’re the only one left to uphold the ‘helping the hopeless’ mantra of the brooding one?” He placed his head in his hands and muttered, “Should’ve gone to see the Watcher. Poofter always has to make things difficult.” He looked up in time to see a young black man approach the office. He was dressed in a pair of baggy jeans and a t-shirt. Fred turned and smiled at the new arrival. The young man approached Fred and gave her a squeeze on the shoulder.

“Who’s this?”

Fred glanced at Spike, then back at the young man. “He didn’t tell me. He wants to know where Angel is.”

The young man stepped in front of Fred and glared at Spike, who was still seated behind the desk. Spike chuckled at his show of machismo. “No need to get all manly there. If I wanted to hurt the bird, I would’ve done it the second she walked in.” He sighed again as the man stared mute at him. “Look if you don’t want to tell me where Brood Boy is I’ll find him myself. I just want to talk to him.” Spike stood and moved around the desk. He maneuvered around the silent pair and exited the office.

“Angel’s missing.”

Spike halted at Fred’s admission.

“Fred!”

“I’m sorry, Gunn. But we’ve looked for Angel for over a week and we still haven’t found him. Lorne left, Cordelia’s gone, and Wes is missing too. We need help.”

“We don’t even know this guy. We can’t trust him.”

Spike turned around and approached the arguing duo. “My name’s Spike. Do you know Darla and Dru?” At Gunn’s slow nod of ascent, he continued, “Dru’s my sire. A long time ago it used to be the four of us, Darla, Dru, me, and Angelus. But now I live in Sunnydale, and I know Buffy and Dawn and everyone else there. I need to talk to Angel. I don’t want to kill him. Yet.”

Gunn and Fred glanced at each other for a moment before Gunn nodded. Fred turned to Spike and said, “Angel’s been missing over a week. He went out one night to… uh… well he went out, and he never came back. When Cordelia went missing too, we thought that they may have gone away together, but Lorne told us before he left that Cordelia contacted him and that she asce- went away somewhere but that she was Ok. We’ve checked all of the places we thought Angel might go, but we haven’t found him yet.

“Did you try a locator spell?”

“No,” answered Gunn. “We don’t usually do stuff like that.”

“I used to know a witch in LA that could do locator spells. She tracked down Peaches for me when I wanted the Ring of Amara. Could ask her to do it.” He looked at Gunn and Fred. They glanced at each other again, then back at him, and nodded. “Right then. Where’s the phone?”
 

***

Title: Enemy Incognito

Author: Wynn

E-mail: effulgent_sun@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: I don’t own Buffy, Spike, etc. I wish I did. Unfortunately for me they are owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox, UPN, WB, etc. I use them for entertainment purposes only.
Author’s note: Thank you, SpikeLover7, for beta-ing my fic. And, as always, feedback is encouraged and appreciated.

 

Chapter Two: Helping the Hopeless

By: Wynn

The interior of the Magic Box was destroyed. Mystical books and artifacts lay charred and demolished under broken shelves and tables. The loft had collapsed, blocking the entrance to the training room, and the cash register and the counter it had resided on were smashed. Sunlight filtered into the store through the jagged hole ripped into the ceiling. Giles stepped gingerly through the shop’s front door, followed closely by Anya. The pair made their way to the center of their store, surveying the damage. Nothing was salvageable; everything had either been crushed or burned beyond repair, then damaged further by the Magic Box’s sprinkler system as it attempted to extinguish the Willow induced fire.

“It’s gone. Everything’s gone,” Anya said to Giles, a distraught expression on her face. She was dressed in a black lace shirt, a pair of grey pants, and black sandals. Her long blonde hair was pulled into a low ponytail. She fiddled with the hem of her shirt and said, “She destroyed everything.”

Giles looked around the store once more. “Well, the actual building seems relatively intact and secure. E-except for the loft. And the massive hole in the ceiling.”

Anya walked over to the cash register, lifted it, and examined it in her hands. “The insurance will cover the repairs to the store, right? We can still fix it up, and replace the merchandise, and everything will be good as new.”

“Yes, I suppose the insurance will cover the necessary repairs and replacements. I sent the photos of the damage to the insurance company today. Hopefully we’ll receive an estimate soon.” Giles paused. “It will take a lot of time and a lot of work to fix the shop. But I’m not certain I want to invest the amount of energy and resources necessary to rebuild the Magic Box.”

“What?” Anya dropped the register and stared at Giles. “You don’t want the Magic Box anymore? I thought you had decided to stay in Sunnydale.”

Giles sighed and took off his glasses, wiping them on his denim shirt. A pair of jeans and brown leather boots completed the outfit. “For the time being I will be here in Sunnydale. But it is only temporary. Eventually I plan to return to England.” He stared at the destruction, remembering the rage Willow possessed as she laid waste to the Scooby Gang, to the Magic Box, and to Sunnydale itself. “But not until I’m certain everyone here will be safe. As safe as one can be living on the Hellmouth.”

“You mean, until you’re sure everyone is safe from Willow.”

He raised an eyebrow at Anya’s bluntness. “Yes. I-”

The door to the Magic Box jingled as Buffy, Dawn, and Xander entered. The friends stopped and gaped at the state of disrepair.

“Whoa,” Dawn muttered. “Major damage.”

Buffy took a few steps forward, eyes searching the wreckage, mouth set in a hard line. She wore a white button up shirt and a pair of black jeans; her short blonde hair was pulled into a half ponytail. Moving over to Giles, she gave him a brief hug and said, “We came over to see if we could help with the clean up.”

“Thank you.”

Xander grabbed his toolbox and headed into the interior of the store. He was dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a grey t-shirt. His eyes scanned over the Magic Box, settling briefly on Anya, before he said, “It looks like an earthquake, a tornado, and a hurricane hit at the same time.”

“Yes, Willow certainly was thorough,” Anya commented bitterly.

Xander turned towards his ex-fiancée. “An, she didn’t know what she was doing. She was out of her mind with grief and under the influence of some powerful magic.”

“Willow knew exactly what she was doing. The magic didn’t come to her; she went to the books and sucked it up herself.”

“She lost control. She couldn’t handle the forces she messed with.”

Dawn snorted. “It looked like she was handling them fine to me.”

“Guys,” Buffy said sharply. “Bickering doesn’t help fix the shop. What’s done is done. Arguing over it is pointless.”

Anya arched an eyebrow. “Fine.” She pivoted, retrieved the crushed cash register, and began to sift through the debris for pieces of paperwork.

Buffy turned to Giles and asked, “Where should we start?”

***

The Magic Box clean up was approaching its fifth hour. Buffy hefted a large pile of rubble onto her shoulder and headed for the training room; she pushed her way through the door and exited the shop into the rear alley. She threw the wreckage into the rapidly filling dumpster as her gaze settled on a pile of boxes and crates hidden deep in the shadows of the surrounding buildings. Buffy closed her eyes briefly, drew in a long breath, and exhaled shakily.

“Buffy?”

“Hmm…” Buffy angled her head and watched Giles approach her. He carried a box of broken bits and pieces; he emptied the box into the dumpster, then faced his Slayer.

“How are you today?”

One corner of Buffy’s mouth quirked up. “I’ve been better. But considering everything that’s happened the past few days, I’m good.” She studied her Watcher for a moment, taking in the fading bruises on his face. “How are you?”

“I’m healing.”

Buffy moved over to the boxes and perched on the edge of one. “Do you think we should have let her go off by herself? She’s not exactly… stable.”

“Buffy, Willow needed time to grieve for Tara a-and time to recover from channeling the magics and forces that she used… ah… that she used-”

“To kick our collective ass?” Buffy supplied.

Giving Buffy a half-exasperated, half-amused glare, he replied, “Yes. The magic Willow used put an incredible strain on her body. It-it sucked her energy, her essence, and returned it tainted. In her fragile state, I doubt she could have handled recovering from the magic, grieving for Tara, and facing you, Xander, Dawn, Anya, and myself simultaneously.”

The blonde Slayer remained silent. Memories of the past three days surfaced in her mind: Spike’s expression of horror as he streaked past her, out of the bathroom into the night; Willow standing over her, black eyed and raven haired, in the operating room; Warren, strung up between the trees, limp and skinless; Willow’s cold smirk as she fought Buffy; Dawn sword fighting alongside her; Tara’s funeral. “Do you think she’s still dangerous? I mean, do you think Willow’s still using the magic?”

Giles smoothed Buffy’s hair and squeezed her shoulder. He knew that she felt tremendously guilty for everything that had occurred in Sunnydale, especially for Willow’s descent into the black arts. She had dealt with so much in the previous year, with her resurrection and Dawn and finances and Slaying, and he had increased the pressure upon her by his early departure from the Hellmouth. He swore to himself that he wouldn’t abandon her so completely ever again. “Even if Willow wanted to, I doubt she’s physically or mentally able to do any magic right now. She’s too consumed with grief and guilt.”

Buffy smiled bitterly. “Aren’t we all?”

***

The anonymous hotel room was indistinguishable from the million other hotel rooms on the planet with its beige carpeting, beige walls with pastel art, floral drapes, and floral bedspread. A small, unopened suitcase lay at the foot of the double bed. The lights were off, and the drapes were closed, allowing only a sliver of moonlight to creep into the room.

On the bed, Willow grasped her knees and drew herself into a tight ball. After checking in to the hotel, she had collapsed onto the bed and remained there for the rest of the day. She stared blankly at the wall, eyes unfocused and reliving the previous seventy-two hours. ‘Your shirt…’ ‘Two to go…’ ‘It’s time you went back to being a little energy ball.’ ‘You really need to have every square inch of your ass kicked.’ ‘I’d like to test that theory.’ ‘I love you.’ ‘Your shirt…’ ‘Your shirt…’

Willow closed her eyes and clenched her fists, trying to block Tara’s last words from her mind. There weren’t any sweet and loving goodbyes before she died; just the tinkling of glass, a splatter of blood, ‘Your shirt…’, and Tara was gone. Forever. No more lazy Sunday mornings filled with funny-shaped pancakes; no more dances at the Bronze or stargazing on the rooftops. There was nothing left. Nothing but memories. Inconstant memories that would eventually warp and fade, and then Tara would really be gone forever.

And Willow would truly be alone. No Tara, no family, and no friends.

Tears flowed down Willow’s face as she cried herself to sleep.

***

“Are you sure this is the right place?”

“It’s where the witch said to come.”

“But-but there’s nothing here.”

Spike, Fred, and Gunn stood on the beach bordering the Pacific Ocean. The surf crashed against the rocks of a nearby cliff, and a soft ocean breeze brushed past the odd trio. Spike looked down at the note his witch acquaintance had given him detailing Angel’s location; according to her directions, the brunette vampire was in the middle of the Pacific. He sighed and scanned the glistening ocean surface for additional clues pointing to Angel. He didn’t find any. In his hand, the stone of Kreneuk glowed brightly; it was charmed by the witch with a variation of the locator spell used to find Angel. The closer it got to missing vampire, the quicker the stone would pulse, blinking faster and faster until it emitted one steady pulse as it came into contact with Angel.

“There doesn’t have to be anything here,” Spike said to Fred. “The stone says Angel’s in the bloody ocean.”

Gunn stared at Spike. “How are we supposed to get him out of the ocean? We don’t have boats or scuba gear.”

“We’re not supposed to get him out.” Spike crouched down and unlaced one boot; tossing it to the side, he removed the other boot. He stood, took off his t-shirt, and placed it on top of his boots. “I am.” He grasped the stone tight in his hand and walked towards the ocean. Spike looked over his shoulder and said, “Bring the car as close to the ocean as you can and have a couple of blankets ready. Don’t know how long it’ll take to find the wanker, but I don’t fancy combusting upon surfacing. If I don’t come back after twelve hours or so, go to Sunnyhell and talk to the Slayer. She’ll help you find Angel.”

Fred took a few steps forward and said, “Here, Gunn thought you might need this.” She handed Spike a slim black case. “It’s a set of lock picks and a multi-purpose tool. We thought that Angel might be tied up. I don’t know how you’d use them at the bottom of the ocean, but it’s always best to be prepared.”

A small smile appeared on Spike’s face. “Thanks.”

“Be careful.”

“I will.” The blonde slipped the black case in the back pocket of his jeans, turned back to the crashing waves, and stepped into the cool salt water. He pushed his way into the tide and was soon submerged. The cloudless sky allowed the light from the full moon to illuminate the sea. Small schools of fish and globs of seaweed brushed past the vampire’s legs as he descended. Uncurling his fingers slightly, he moved his arm back and forth; as the stone passed to the left side of Spike, it began to pulse faintly. He closed his fist and swam off to the left.

Two hours later, the stone pulsed rapidly, the bright flashes replacing the waning moonlight as underwater guide. Spike vamped out to better search for his lost grand-Sire. He wondered what sort of nasty had got the best of Angel and deposited him into the watery prison. Maybe Dru and Darla had taken their revenge for being set on fire and locked in a room with a bunch of lawyers. He smirked at the mental image of the two female vampires overpowering the hulking, brooding one; the smirk stretched into a broad grin as Spike visualized Angel’s reaction to being rescued by him. He would probably dust from shock.

Out of the depths of the ocean’s shadows, Spike saw the outline of a large box. He glanced at the stone; it emitted a steady, non-blinking light. Placing the stone in the pocket of his jeans, he swam closer to the box. Metal bars covered a square opening; peering inside, Spike saw Angel floating, wrists and ankles bound with heavy chain. The brunette was emaciated from blood deprivation and unconscious.

Silently thanking Fred and Gunn for planning ahead, Spike grabbed the case of lock picks from his back pocket. There were three heavy locks attaching the two sections of the box. Within minutes, Spike unlocked one of the locks and threw it into the ocean. Fifteen minutes later, the remaining two restraints were gone, and the blonde was wrenching open the box’s lid. He pulled Angel into the ocean and quickly removed the wrist and ankle chains. Hoisting the unconscious vampire onto his shoulder, Spike began to retrace his route back to the beach.

The deep blue of the California night sky was partially displaced by the rose light of day when the two vampires broke the surface of the ocean. Standing on shaky legs, Spike dumped Angel off of his shoulder and dragged the brunette by the lapels of his shirt to the beach. Fred and Gunn ran into the ocean and helped pull Angel to the waiting car. Spike collapsed on the sand, coughing out salt water, muscles screaming from over six hours of swimming. Depositing Angel in the car, the duo rushed back to Spike and pulled him to his feet.

“Thank you, Spike,” Fred said quietly, handing the blonde a blanket.

“Welcome.” Spike crawled into the back seat with Angel as Fred and Gunn piled into the car. Daylight broke as the four sped away from the ocean, beach, and cliff and headed back to LA and to the Hyperion.

***

Title: Enemy Incognito

Author: Wynn

E-mail: effulgent_sun@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: Buffy, Spike, etc. are owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, WB, Twentieth Century Fox, etc. They, along with a few others, are borrowed for entertainment purposes only.
Author’s Note: A tête-à-tête is a private conversation between two people. Again, many thanks to my beta SpikeLover7 for her suggestions and encouragement. Also, feedback is encouraged and appreciated.

 

Chapter Three: Tête-à-Tête

By: Wynn

Day had come and gone once more. The red haze of sunset filled the quiet hotel room where Willow lay on the bed, watching the fading sunlight. She hadn’t moved since her arrival three days ago; basic necessities such as food and water were of no concern to her. She was consumed by her thoughts of Tara, Xander, Buffy, Giles, and Dawn. Her grief and her guilt were slowly killing her.

Willow blinked once as she heard a knock on the door. She turned and drew the thin cotton blanket around her, ignoring the person or persons on the other side of the door. She didn’t want to move, and she didn’t want to talk to anyone. She just wanted to remember.

The knocking continued, soon turning to banging, a steady rhythm interrupting Willow’s attempt to drown out the world. “Go away,” she said. “Please. I want to be alone.” Her plea for solitude didn’t faze the unwanted visitor; if anything, the banging intensified, picking up speed until it seemed to be one continuous bang. Throwing off the blanket, Willow got out of bed and stalked over to the door. She turned the knob and yanked, prepared to yell at the persistent intruder.

The hall was empty.

Eyebrows drawn in confusion, Willow stepped into the hallway. There weren’t any signs of the mysterious visitor; whomever it had been seemed to have vanished into thin air. She checked the empty hall once more before backing into her room. Willow shut the door, locked it, and leaned against the wood grain, drawing in a deep breath and closing her eyes. She half-expected the banging to begin again as soon as she re-entered the room, so she remained by the door, waiting to catch the unknown person. After a few minutes of silence, Willow opened her eyes, turned away from the door, and stopped.

There was someone in the room.

Backlit by the dwindling sunset, the last person Willow expected to see was sitting on the bed, hands folded, head tilted, and a warm smile on her face. She was wearing a white flowing skirt and a gold silk top; her hair was piled high on her head with delicate gold beads decorating the elegant curls.


“Tara?”

“Hey, Willow.”

***

The Hyperion was quiet. After three days of constant hovering, Spike had finally convinced Fred and Gunn that there was nothing they could do to help Angel and that they should get out of the hotel for a while. The unconscious vampire needed blood and sleep, not nervous friends flocking about him. The pair had gone to see a movie, leaving Spike alone with his grand-Sire.

The blonde pushed open the door to Angel’s room and walked inside. He carried two mugs of warm blood and a bag of sour cream and onion potato chips. Angel lay on his king size bed curled up in the black sheets; an empty mug with dried blood along its edge sat on his bedside table, next to a picture of the cheerleader. On the opposite side of the bedroom, a lighted lamp shed a muted yellow glow, softly illuminating the brunette vampire’s inner sanctum. Spike placed one of the full mugs on the table, and he pulled a black leather chair next to Angel’s bed. Setting his mug down on the floor, Spike plopped into the chair, grasped the potato chip bag, and slowly pulled it open. The sound of crinkling foil caused Angel to stir on the bed. Encouraged by the movement, Spike reached into the bag for a chip and ate it, filling the dark bedroom with the crunching sound of a crushed potato chip. Angel twisted underneath the sheets. Spike alternated sipping from the mug of blood and eating potato chips until the brunette opened his eyes.

“Morning, sunshine,” Spike said as he set the chip bag beside the chair.

Angel blinked a few times and focused his gaze on the blonde vampire. “Spike?”

“The one and only. How are you today? Well rested I presume. Should be since you’ve been Sleeping Beauty the past three days. I had to force blood down your throat while you were unconscious, and, let me tell you, that’s not an experience I want to have again.”

“What?”

Rolling his eyes, Spike helped Angel into a sitting position. He handed the brunette the mug of blood and returned to the leather chair, watching as Angel eyed him warily, clutching the mug in his hands. “If I wanted you dead, Peaches, I would have staked your ass as soon as I pulled you out of the bloody ocean. The blood’s perfectly fine. Now, drink it. You’re not fully healed yet.”

Bringing the mug to his lips, Angel took a cautious sip before gulping down the rest of the blood. He wiped a trail of the warm liquid from his chin and set the mug on his nightstand. Looking at Spike, he said, “What are you doing here?”

“Watching you dribble like a baby apparently.” Sighing, the blonde picked up his mug and downed the rest of its contents. He twirled the empty cup in his hands as he said, “I came here because I needed to talk to you. But you had pulled a magical disappearing act, so I called up a witch I knew in LA to do a locator spell on you. Then your two mates and I, well, really it was just me, hauled your ass out of the Pacific and brought you back to your lovely hotel. You’ve been unconscious since I found you.”

“You-you pulled me out of the ocean?”

“The prolonged exposure to ocean water must have turned your brain to mush. Yes, I said I got you out of the metal box you were in and dragged you to the shore.”

“Why? Why would you rescue me? You hate me.”

Spike grinned. “Yeah, I do. But like I said, I needed… need to talk to you. I couldn’t do that if you were chained in a box in the middle of the ocean. Which, by the way, how the hell did you end up chained in a box in the middle of the ocean?”

Angel glanced down at his hands. “Demon.”

Spike arched an eyebrow. He knew that Angel was lying to him, and he knew that Angel knew that Spike could tell he was lying. “Must have been some demon.”

The brunette focused his gaze on Spike, eyes projecting a deep sorrow and fathomless pain. The two stared at each other for a moment, searching for answers to unasked questions. “Why are you here, Spike?” Angel asked quietly.

Spike broke eye contact and bit his lip. He ran his fingers through his hair and inhaled deeply. “I’m here because I need to talk to you. About me.” He looked at Angel again and finished his reply, “And about Buffy.”

***

Pushing herself up off the mat, Dawn faced her sister again. It was their first day of training; Buffy had consulted Giles the day before, and they both decided that she should be the one to train Dawn. Something about more time for sisterly bonding and passing on what she had learned. Whatever. The real reason was that Giles had his hands full with a manic Anya who was pushing full steam ahead in the Magic Box rebuilding. He didn’t have time to train Dawn. Which left Buffy, who was standing with her hands perched on her black sweat pant clad hips and an intense expression on her face, to attempt to teach Dawn the ins and outs of defense and offense. Not for the first time during the training session, Dawn wished that Spike were here so that he could teach her. At least he would have made the session marginally enjoyable.

“Did you notice how I dodged your punch? If you can’t hit me, you can’t hurt me. Dodging blows is always less painful than blocking them. Plus dodging throws your opponent off balance, allowing you the opportunity to strike.”

Dawn rolled her eyes and dropped into a fighting stance again. Her long brown hair was arranged in a French braid, and she wore a t-shirt and a pair of blue cotton workout pants.

Buffy folded her arms across her grey tank top and stared at her little sister. “Dawn, I know this is basic stuff that any idiot can figure out. Hit equals hurt isn’t rocket science. But it’s necessary and it’s important. It could save your life one day.”

“I know. But you’re the one dodging and I’m the one falling flat on my face.”

“And after enough times of falling flat on your face you’ll learn to control your momentum so you won’t be left open for an attack.” Buffy sighed at the look on her sister’s face. If looks could kill, Dawn wouldn’t need combat skills; she could eviscerate her opponent with a narrowing of her blue eyes. “Why don’t we stop for today? I still have to patrol, and I need to start looking for a new job.”

Walking over to the water cooler, Dawn said, “So you were fired from the Doublemeat. After you showed up at the Magic Box a half hour after your shift started, I figured they fired you.” She took a long drink of water and wiped her forehead on towel. “I just didn’t want to say anything about it because you looked pissed.”

“Saving the world tends to interfere with flipping burgers. The world of fast food frowns on no shows. Especially after a week of no showing.”

“You hated it anyway. I don’t see why you were pissed about being fired from a job you hate.”

Buffy grabbed a cup of water and sat down on the floor of the Magic Box training room. As Dawn sat beside her, she said, “I wasn’t upset about not working for the Doublemeat Palace anymore. I was upset that they fired me. Me. I should have at least had the opportunity to quit and walk out in a dignified huff. Instead I was fired from a minimum wage fast food place because I was out trying to save the world. Again.”

“Speaking of saving the world… any word from Willow?”

Buffy shook her head. “It’s probably too soon for her. She needs some time to recover from… everything.”

“Like trying to kill you, me, Giles, Anya, and Xander? Not to mention destroy the world.”

Setting her cup down on the floor, Buffy faced her sister. “Dawn, Willow was out of her mind with pain and rage. She watched Tara die. It’s hard watching your lover die in front of you. I know. You feel like you’ve lost control over everything, over yourself, the world, and you do things that…you wouldn’t normally do. Things that one would feel really guilty about after it’s done.”

“Like Spike?”

Buffy stood and walked away from Dawn. “I don’t want to talk about Spike.”

“Well, I do.” Dawn followed her, circling around her so she could face Buffy. “I want to talk about Spike and what happened between the two of you.”

“It’s complicated.”

Dawn remained silent for a moment, gritting her teeth. “I know it’s complicated,” she said quietly, trying to quell the need to scream. “Everything is complicated. That doesn’t mean that you can avoid talking. Everyone did that for the entire year, and look where it got us. Tara’s dead. Willow’s gone. Spike’s gone. Xander and Anya aren’t together anymore.” She unclenched her jaw and grasped her sister’s hand. “You can’t keep shutting me out Buffy.”

Buffy pushed a strand of hair behind Dawn’s ear. She smiled sadly at her younger sister. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s just that I don’t know exactly where to start about me and Spike. What happened between us wasn’t entirely his fault, no matter what Xander told you. I did things that I’m not proud of, and I don’t want you or anyone else to know about them.” She paused. “But you need to know about them and about what happened. You deserve the truth.”

Dawn pulled Buffy into a hug. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“Thank me when we’re finished.”

***

“T-Tara? You’re not real. Why are you here? How are you here? I saw you… watched you… I miss you so much.”

Tara reached out and cupped Willow’s face. The redhead felt a wave of love and warmth and comfort spread through her from Tara’s touch. “I’m here but I’m not here. I came to help you but I can’t stay. They haven’t given me much time before I have to be back.”

“They? They who?”

Tara shook her head. “It’s not important. Not as important as what you’re doing to yourself. Why did you leave Sunnydale?”

Willow stood and walked to the window. “How could I have stayed after what I did to them? They must hate me so much, and I-I couldn’t bear to be there and have them hate me.” She felt Tara approach so she turned to face the blonde Wicca.

“They don’t hate you Willow. They never have. And they never will.”

Tears formed in Willow’s eyes as she stared at her love. “They should. I tried to kill them. How can they not hate me?”

“Because they love you.”

Willow sank to the floor, sobbing. She reached for Tara, and the two held each other. Tara smoothed Willow’s hair and pulled out of the embrace; she leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on her lover’s lips. “They love you like I love you. Forever and always. That’s never going to change, no matter what happens, or what you do. And that’s why you can’t stay here forever, reliving everything that’s happened. You have to go back to Sunnydale and face them, and you have to keep living, even if it is hard and painful.”

“But I don’t want to keep living. Not without you.”

“You won’t be. I’ll be with you always. In your heart and in your soul and in your mind. I love you, Willow, from the first moment I saw you, and I always will.” She stood. Holding out a hand, she helped Willow up off of the floor and pressed her hand to her lover’s cheek. “It’s time.”

“No, baby, no. I need you here with me. Don’t go. Please.”

“I have to. It’s time.” With one last kiss, she moved away from Willow towards the hotel room door. She glanced over her shoulder and said, “They’ll forgive you. It won’t be easy, but then nothing ever is. Especially love.”

“I love you.”

“I love you.” Tara turned to the door and passed through it, leaving a fading glow of amber light.

Willow watched the disappearing light as she whispered, “Goodbye, Tara.”

***

Title: Enemy Incognito

Author: Wynn

E-mail: effulgent_sun@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: I don’t own Buffy, Spike, Willow, Xander, etc. Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc. own them. I came up with the plot.
Author’s Note: Thanks to all the people who took the time to read and review my story. Feedback is a wonderful thing, and I appreciate each and every review. And more thanks to my beta, SpikeLover7, my fellow CW and SACer.

 

Chapter Four: Dodging Fate and Changing Destiny

By: Wynn

“So,” Angel drawled, “after this Initiative group shoved a chip in your brain, you decided to stay in Sunnydale and work with Buffy.”

“Not like I had much of a choice,” Spike muttered. “I couldn’t feed, couldn’t defend myself. Dru had left me, and I sure as hell couldn’t ask you for help. So I went to Buffy.”

“And you helped fight demons with her-”

“More or less.”

“-for the past three years. You even stayed on the Hellmouth to take care of Dawn after Buffy died. Until, of course, the day you decided to up and leave to come to LA and talk to me. How sweet.”

Spike rolled his eyes. He had spent the past hour and a half explaining to Angel the events of the last few years in Sunnyhell. Needless to say, the brunette vampire was skeptical at the story of a soulless demon who, on many occasions in the past, had attempted to kill the Slayer, but now worked alongside her. And Spike hadn’t even gotten to the really unbelievable portion of his life’s story: the part where the evil vampire fell in love with the Vampire Slayer and traveled to Africa to win his soul for her. “It’s not that simple, Peaches. I didn’t just decide to ‘up and leave’ one day. There were- are- reasons for this little family reunion.”

“Such as?”

Spike pushed himself up off of the plush leather chair and paced the length of Angel’s bedroom. He glanced at his grand-Sire, still resting on the king sized bed, head tilted to one side, watching him stalk back and forth across the room. “Bloody fuckin’ hell, this shouldn’t be so hard. I mean you can’t even move, well, at least not very fast, so I shouldn’t be nervous. Even if you wanted to stake me, you couldn’t catch me, so I should just spit it out.” He paused and ran both of his hands through his hair. Rubbing his hands over his eyes, he muttered, “Stupid, sodding soul making me-”

“What?!” Angel narrowed his eyes as he said, “What are you talking about, Spike? You don’t have a soul. You’re a vampire.”

“Oh, is there a limit to how many ensouled vampires there can be on the planet? Did I break the quota of only one tortured, soulful, poofter of a vampire? Sorry to burst your bloody bubble, but I won my soul back. I wasn’t cursed with it. I asked for it. I went to Africa, all the way to some hole in the wall village in Africa with the help of your demon pal Whistler, and I endured the trials and won my soul, my human soul. So shove the high and mighty routine Angelus. It doesn’t apply to me anymore.” Spike collapsed onto the leather chair and glared at a shocked Angel. “You know, I had this all planned out in my head how I was going to tell you about Africa and the soul, and you had to just blow it all to hell. Should’ve expected it though. You were always bollixing up my plans. You-”

“Spike?”

“What?”

“Shut up.”

“Sod off.”

The two vampires with souls sat in silence, scowling at each other. Abruptly, Spike jumped out of the chair and stalked towards the door. “Just forget everything, Peaches. It was a mistake to come here.” He seized the knob and yanked back on the door so hard he nearly pulled it from its hinges.

“Spike… William-”

Spike whirled and faced Angel. “Don’t you dare try to pull this ‘William’ crap on me.”

“Well, if you would just sit down and shut up for a minute instead of running out of here in a snit, I wouldn’t have to ‘pull this ‘William’ crap’, as you so eloquently put it.” The pair glowered at each other again, stuck in a stalemate with Angel on one side of the bedroom and Spike on the other, like an old fashioned Western duel. All they needed was the requisite ball of tumbleweed blowing in the wind.

Angel closed his eyes, sucked in a deep breath, and exhaled slowly, calming. “Look, I’ve had to deal with the fact that not only have you been living in Sunnydale the past few years, but you’ve also been working with Buffy instead of trying to kill her. Not to mention that it was you who rescued me. And that you are now a vampire with a soul. I’m sorry if I’m not reacting the way you want me to. If you’ll just calm down and sit down, we can talk about this more.”

“Fine.” With a clenched jaw and folded arms, Spike returned to the leather chair and ignored his grand-Sire. After a moment he said, “So what do you want to talk about?”

Angel sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Is it too late to be put back in the ocean?”

Spike laughed. “Yes.” The blonde smirked at Angel. “Looks like you’re stuck with me.”

Angel studied the younger vampire slumped in the chair. His clothes were worn and rumpled, and his hair was an uncombed mass of bleached blonde curls. He looked exhausted. There were shadows under his eyes, and the lines on his face were more pronounced. But underneath the physical changes lay something deeper. The brash cockiness characteristic of Spike had lessened to a subdued confidence. His blue eyes held sorrow and guilt, and, although Angel knew Spike would never admit it, a smidgen of concern for the healing vampire. Spike had changed. Somehow, he had dodged fate and changed his destiny. The thought of his grand-Childe having the chance to overcome his demon almost made the brunette smile.

“As fun as this has been so far, do you think we can get back to the point?”

“Which is?”

“Spike,” Angel growled.

“Fine, fine. Take all the fun out of everything.”

“Are you finished?”

“Hardly.”

Ignoring the blonde’s sarcasm, Angel continued, “Ok, you say that Whistler helped you get to Africa and win back your soul. What possible reason could you have for wanting the return of your human soul? You hated William. You did everything you could to make Spike as different from William as possible. What force on this earth made want your soul?”

Spike met Angel’s gaze. “Love,” he answered simply.

“Love?”

Spike nodded.

Angel narrowed his eyes in confusion. “What love? You’re not with Dru anymore… not like she’d want you to have a soul anyway. Then who…” Realization swept across his face. He looked at Spike, but the younger vampire was avoiding his gaze. “Buffy?”

Spike nodded again.

“You-you love Buffy. Enough to want the return of your soul.”

“Yes.”

“And this isn’t some sort of joke? You’re not just trying to piss me off. You’re actually telling me the truth.”

“Why the hell would I go through all the trouble to rescue you, to swim four hours with your large, undead, poofter self slung over my shoulder, just to tell you a bloody joke that would get me staked within a heartbeat… metaphorically speaking, of course.”

Angel was silent as he stared at Spike. Moments of silence stretched into minutes as he contemplated the situation of his impulsive grand-Childe falling in love with Buffy the Vampire Slayer. He glanced at the wall and asked, “Does she love you?”

The blonde closed his eyes. Memories flooded his brain. How long was I gone; Every night I save you; I think I was in heaven; And the only person I can stand to be around is a neutered vampire who cheats at kitten poker; This isn’t real, but I just want to feel; It’s not love. Not yet; It’s killing me; I’m sorry… William; It hurts? Yeah; I think it’s real… for you; Didn’t take you long; Because you love me. No, I don’t; I have feelings for you; I’ll make you feel it; Ask me again why I could never love you; He stood and resumed pacing the dark bedroom. Shadows played across his face, highlighting the torrent of emotions that was displayed in his steel-blue eyes. Love, hate, despair, passion, rage, longing, confusion, hopelessness. He gave a small laugh, a short burst of self-loathing, pain, and sorrow. “I don’t know,” he answered truthfully. “I don’t know how she can after what I did to her.”

His voice a tightly controlled ball of fury, Angel asked, “What did you do?”

“The last thing I swore I would never do. I hurt her.”

***

The night was quiet and still, as if the Hellmouth was holding its breath waiting for the next Apocalypse to appear. Buffy had patrolled for an hour, but she hadn’t come across one demon, vampire, or other evildoer. All of them seemed to vanish after a big good vs. evil showdown. And this time Spike was one of the vanished.

Her talk with Dawn about the roller coaster romance between her and the chipped vampire had gone as well as to be expected. Which meant that it hadn’t gone well at all. The conversation went smoothly until it approached the time of Buffy’s birthday; Dawn had asked questions about Spike’s appearance at the birthday party from hell, and Buffy had answered them truthfully. She had beat Spike to a pulp in the alley behind the police station and left him lying, beaten and bloodied, as she went to go turn herself in for Katrina’s murder. A twenty minute screaming match had ensued with Buffy trying to explain why she had acted the way she did and with Dawn trying her best not to listen. Eventually, the tense conversation continued until Buffy came to the break-up. After learning about the “Doctor” and the demon eggs, Dawn asked if Buffy really believed that Spike would adopt a pseudonym so similar to Doc, the demon who had cut Dawn and indirectly caused Buffy’s death.

Buffy couldn’t think of anything to say.

Dawn had sat in silence as the rest of the fractured relationship was explained to her. Once the details of the bathroom incident had been told, Dawn stood, quietly said “Thank you,” left the room, and asked Giles to take her home. Buffy remained in the training room an indiscriminate amount of time lost in thought. She eventually changed into jeans and a navy tank top and headed into the night to patrol.

Buffy sighed as she realized her location. She had arrived at Spike’s crypt. Her subconscious seemed to be firmly in control of her feet, taking her to places where she consciously did not want to go. She shoved her stake into the waistband of her jeans, and she examined the crypt door, remembering all of the times she had kicked it in and barged into his home. She had been so callous, so righteous, ignoring his thoughts and feelings because he was a soulless demon. It was stupid and dangerous, and she had done it over and over. Moving to the entrance, Buffy lightly knocked on the door. Pushing it open, she entered the darkened crypt.

“Spike?” she called softly.

The interior of the crypt was clean. Candles resided on every available surface; a faded armchair sat in front of the ancient television. In one corner there was a refrigerator, and a small stack of clothes lay in another. Moving to the clothes, Buffy picked up a red button up shirt. It was quintessential Spike. Bold, vibrant, and brash. Except that wasn’t Spike anymore. He was broken and hollow, and it was her fault. She had told him their relationship was killing her, but she had failed to realize that it was killing him too. Until now.

A tear slid down her cheek as she whispered, “I’m so sorry, Spike.”

The crypt door banged open, causing Buffy to drop the silk shirt. Grabbing it off of the floor with left hand, she whirled to face the intruder with her stake gripped firmly in her right.

“Whoa, there, Buffy!” Clem exclaimed. He carried a paper bag filled with groceries. “No need for pointy wooden objects. It’s just me.”

“I- I’m sorry.” She replaced the stake and laid the shirt on top of the clothes pile. “You startled me.”

“I can see that.” He moved into the crypt, easing the door shut behind him. Placing the grocery bag on the refrigerator, he glanced at the fidgeting Slayer. “So,” he said brightly, “what brings you to my neck of the woods? Or I should say, my neck of the cemetery.”

Buffy looked at the scarlet shirt illuminated by the moonlight peeking into the darkened interior. “I… uh… I-“

“You were looking for Spike?”

Smiling gratefully, the Slayer replied, “Yeah. Is… Did he, ah, come back?”

Clem shook his head. “No. He hasn’t come back. I don’t know when he will. It might be a while. He was in real bad shape before he left.”

“What was he… Do you think he’ll be Ok?”

The loose skinned demon approached Buffy and sat on one of the stone coffins next to her. She joined him as he said, “When I saw him last, he was very emotional. Confused and angry with himself. I’ve never seen him like this, not even after you broke up with him.”

"He told you about that?”

“Yeah. He was Ok then. Sad, yeah, but still relatively stable. This last time… he was just in so much pain. He told me that the chip wouldn’t let him be a monster and that he couldn’t be a man, so, to him, that meant he was nothing.”

“What?” Hazel eyes filling with tears, she gripped the stone sarcophagus and asked, “He said he was nothing?”

Clem nodded. “Then he said things were going to change and took off on his motorcycle.”

The stone cracked under her hands. She blinked the tears away and jumped off the makeshift seat. “It got out of control so fast,” she admitted. “I didn’t know what to do, how to act, and I screwed up. Everything got screwed up.” She shook her head ruefully. “He must hate me so much.”

“No, Buffy. He loved you. He tried his best to love you.”

She turned to her demon companion, eyes full of confusion. “How can you love someone who tells you they hate you?”

“I don’t know,” he replied. “I don’t have much experience in love. But I know it isn’t rational, and people… and demons don’t have control over it. You love who you love. Whether they love you or not. Whether you’re supposed to or not.”

Buffy caressed the cool crimson silk as Clem’s words sunk into her consciousness. “This must be a new experience for you. Listening to the life and love woes of a Vampire Slayer.”

He grinned. “Guess I’m a one of a kind demon.”

‘Life is stupid.’ ‘I have a dim memory of that, yeah.’

“No… You’re not.”

Clem moved next to Buffy and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Not all demons are bad, Buffy. I mean, yeah, we generally have a predilection to create mayhem and destruction, but some of us choose not to ride the evil trip.” He handed the silk shirt to the Slayer. “You should take it. He’ll probably want it when he gets back, and there’s less of a chance of it being ruined if you keep it.”

She smiled sadly. “Thanks. I better go. Dawn’s waiting for me.” She slipped the shirt on over her blue tank and headed for the crypt door.

“Tell her hi for me.”

“I will.” Buffy stopped at the door. Her hand rested lightly on the rough wood surface; after a moment, she turned the knob and exited the crypt.

***

Angel sprang from the bed, grabbed Spike by the throat, and pinned him against the wall. Digging his fingers into the blonde’s neck, he said roughly, “You have exactly two seconds to tell me what you did to her before I rip your head from your body.”

Spike punched the brunette, succeeding in loosening the grip of death the elder vampire had on his throat. A hard kick to the midsection sent Angel flying across the room and crashing against the far wall. Massaging his throat, Spike returned to the leather chair. “I didn’t come here for a round of kick-the-Spike. I’m bloody well through with being everyone’s punching bag, so don’t try for a repeat performance, ok, Peaches. You’re not physically up to it, no matter what your massive, hair gel poisoned ego is telling you, and I don’t really want to have to kick your ass right now. So if you’ll just sit down and calm down, we can resume this pleasant conversation.”

He waited until Angel had crawled back into his bed before he spoke. “The night I left Sunnyhell I went to her house to apologize for something stupid I had done. I planned on the apology being short and to the point, but my plans never go right. Ever.” He closed his eyes and remembered. “She told me she had feelings for me, but that they weren’t love. She couldn’t trust a soulless demon enough to love him. I guess she was right.” Tears slid from the corners of his closed eyes; his fists gripped the arms of the chair. His entire body was tense. “I just wanted her to stop being in control of everything and let herself love… let her be happy. But I snapped. Lost control.” I’ll make you feel it. “I tried… I almost…” He pressed his fisted hands against his closed eyes. “I…”

“You forced yourself on her.”

“Almost. I was mad, absolutely out of it. I was just tired of seeing her unhappy, so disconnected from everyone and everything.” He opened his eyes, shining with tears and bloodshot. “She kicked me off her. And as soon as she did that I knew that I had royally fucked up. Crossed a line I had set. I swore I would never hurt her but I did.” He met Angel’s gaze. “That’s why I want my soul. I never want to lose control like that again. Never want to hurt her like that again. I’d rather die first.”

“A soul isn’t a magical absolute control over the demon, Spike. Having one doesn’t mean you’ll never do anything bad ever again.”

“I know. But it’s a start.”

Silence permeated the darkened bedroom. Angel regarded his grand-Childe; Spike returned his stare. Quietly, Angel said, “Why are you here Spike?”

“I thought I could stay here for a while, learn the finer points of being a vampire with a soul, help you and the bird and her extremely overprotective friend. I can’t return to the Hellmouth. Not until I… not until I know I’ll never hurt her like I did. I need time to adjust to the new soul and demon combo. I just need time. And I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

Angel thought about everything Spike had said. He felt the need to stake him for hurting Buffy, but Angel knew what it was like to do something in the throes of passion, of despair, of hopelessness that you would never do in a sane frame of mind. Spike had the chance to make amends for his past wrongs, and Angel wasn’t going to stand in his way. “You can stay.”

***

The steel doors creaked open, letting sunlight into the narrow entryway. She stepped from the cool darkness of the building into the warm summer day. With one last glance behind her, she stepped onto the sidewalk and looked out into the world, taking in the sights, smells, and sounds of civilization. A small smile appeared on her face. Pushing a strand of dark hair behind her ear, she glanced at the pieces of paper clutched in her hand. One was a bus ticket. To Sunnydale, California. The other was an address to a shop called The Magic Box.

Taking a deep breath, Faith stared at the ticket, her only possession besides the clothes on her back. Placing the ticket in her back pocket, she turned and walked away from the prison that had been her home for the past two years into the free world.

***

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