PIECES OF THE HEART, PART SEVEN:
CHRYSALIS
By D.M. Evans & S.J. Smith
DISCLAIMER: Don't own nothin' in re: BtVS or AtS. We also don't own rights to William Butler Yeats.
A.N. This story went A.U. with "Blood Will Tell", part Two in this series.
*********
Chapter 1
The blonde woman wrinkled her nose against the smell of the market place. As much as the bright white sunlight hurt her eyes, the stench was that much more overwhelming. Under the effluvia of perfume rising from her and the other females she was herded onto a stage with was a sickly smell she couldn't identify.
She looked around at the women grouped with her. They were different from her; she knew that much even though she no longer had a clear self picture in her mind. Most were like the women who had dressed her, small, thin and uniform in coloring. A few others were tall, taller than she, and markedly thin. They had very large luminous eyes and brightly colored hair. Their features were fine and small but still very human-looking yet somehow she knew they weren't. Scabby ugly little creatures roamed around the stage appearing to her to be servants of some kind.
She watched as several of the small uniform females were forced to the lip of the stage they were on. She could barely see the sea of people beyond the stage through her watering eyes but she got the impression they were mostly bored men. A heavier-set tall man with a shock of hair nearly lilac in color took center stage, beginning to extol the virtues of the women huddled before him. From the silence of the crowd she assumed no one was interested in what he had to say.
She shut her eyes, burying her face in her hands. Nojh, the small woman who had brought her to the stage tore her hands away.
"You'll ruin all your beautiful make-up," Nojh hissed.
She sobbed but was too afraid to let her tears fall. What was the punishment for ruining make-up? From her companion's tone, there surely must be one. Where were her friends? Why weren't they coming for her? Didn't they know she needed them?
A word formed in her mind; angel. What did that have to do with anything? She couldn't recall any ingrained belief in angels. Then again, she couldn't remember her own name. Maybe Angel was her name. She whispered it softly, rolling it around on her tongue, trying it on for size. It didn't seem to fit. She didn't feel like an Angel. Maybe it was a pet name. She might be an Angelina or Angie but that also felt wrong. Still there was something warm and comforting about the name, Angel. She liked it a lot for some reason. It made her feel loved and needed. Maybe she was wrong and she did have a deep belief in angels. Maybe she was a nun or something, for it to have some reason that it would mean so much to her.
"Sold."
That word from the man at center stage dragged her attention back to where she was. Suddenly she understood. This was an auction. The huddle of women had just been sold off like a pair of shoes or a steak for dinner. She shook her head at the
realization this was her future. She glanced around frantically, trying to focus, trying to figure a way out. She wasn't even sure why she even thought she had a chance at escape but something in her told her she was capable of it.
She shoved her handler away and ran. Leaping from the stage, she expected to break bones when she landed but something in her body felt at home doing this. She twisted lithely and her legs expertly cushioned the shock. She ran for the wall. One of the men grabbed her but she spun out of his grasp, kicking him. He stumbled back and she took him to ground with a spin kick. She stared at the fallen man bleeding into the dirt, wondering how she had done that. The word 'Giles' popped into her mind but she wasn't quite sure what it meant. Was it a name of what she had just done? Was it someone she knew? She didn't have the answer but Giles meant something important to her.
She launched herself at the wall. Something rammed into her back and pain sizzled through her. She landed on her spine, breathless, unable to move. One of the men jammed a long metallic stick-like thing into her belly. Her body arched, her legs jumping as the thing pumped energy into her. Other men swooped on her, chained her and dragged her back to her keeper. The young female dusted at the diaphanous clothing she wore.
"Just look at you. What a mess. How will you ever find a lord worth having a prize like you if you make a mess of yourself running around like that?" Nohj snapped.
She couldn't respond to the creature, the pain still overwhelming her senses. She just lay on the stage while other females were put on the block like nothing had happened. Finally she was able to sit up. She watched as one of the thin stately women who seemed to be the same species as the men buying the female slaves was led to the block. She generated far more interest than any of the other smaller females had. The men seemed to like this woman far better. She could tell this poor woman was being sold for a lot of money or whatever they were using for currency.
"Stand," her handler said, tugging on her manacled wrist.
She refused to stand but two men dragged her to the block and when she wouldn't stand they forced her to her feet, holding her there. She fought and squirmed as much as her pain would allow, her see-through clothing flashing the audience. They howled with glee and lust.
"And here we have a very special treat for all you Lordships. I don't have to tell you how rare it is to have a member of her species here at Lexa Market. You have seen her fire and her beauty speaks for itself. Yes, she may take a little work to train her to be properly submissive but I know you are all up to the challenge. Who wants to begin the bidding?" His voice took on a suggestive tone that made a cold chill stroke her spine.
She watched them whip into a frenzy. She wanted to scream that it was wrong to buy people. She just plain wanted to scream. But she was still barely able to breathe without pain. She cried silently, knowing now her friends, if they were even looking for her, would never get to her in time. Maybe that's why she was so obsessed with the name 'Angel'. This was hell and she was waiting for one to rescue her.
"Sold!" the auctioneer cried. "To Lord Colpa. I'm sure his lordship will be most pleased with his purchase.
She didn't even attempt to fight as she was led away from the marketplace and bundled into a carriage with her handler. She watched the marketplace slide away through tear-blurred eyes, finally burying her face against the seat pillow and submitting to her body's
cries for an escape from the pain, slipping into unconsciousness.
* * *
Cool breezes caressed his check and ruffled his hair. Powerful muscles surged under him. There was a primal thrill having so much strength between his legs. Spike tossed his head back, letting the moonlight shine in his eyes. His lips parted, drinking in the air bringing tastes to his tongue. Subtle scents tickled his nose. The smell of the horse beneath him, the perfumed skin of his companions, the arousal hanging in the air, all stirred his dead flesh. He glanced around him. To his left rode Buffy on a shimmery horse the grey of shadow. Angel, as per his usual tastes, sat astride a black stallion. Giggling on his right was Dru, sidesaddle on a gleaming white mare.
They shared more than a moonlight ride. He felt near drunk on the heady perfume of all their excitement. It was all any of them could do to keep from tumbling from their mounts into a heap of writhing, aching bodies on the sands. The primordial aroma of the salt air worked its way into his senses, exploding in his mouth with the promises from ancient days, the taste of blood with its salty bouquet, the nectar of a woman's love as it coated his tongue like a reward for his gentle probings. The pounding surf filled his mind with thoughts of driving himself into Dru or Buffy or both. He had energy and enthusiasm to share.
Angel cut away from the shore guiding his mount toward a castle perched on the top of a wooded hill. Always the leader, Angel was, and in spite of himself, Spike canted his horse to follow him. It was easier to go along. Dru liked it when he and Angel frictioned along, sparks burning up everything in their way. Buffy did not enjoy being the bone caught in the jaws of two hungry dogs half as much as Dru did. She was both the disease and the cure for the vampires. She would be the death of them all.
Angel leapt off his horse, sending the beast pounding into the stable. He swept Buffy off her mount, carrying her toward the castle. Spike did likewise with Dru, watching the shadowy horses disappear into their barn into the waiting care of their servants. Dru nuzzled and bit at him as he carried her. The scents of arousal made his fangs ache in their sockets.
Angel kicked open the heavy front door and prowled into a room dominated by a fireplace and pillowy furniture set on thick rugs. A fire danced seductively in its grey granite cage. Spike spilled to the floor with Dru, thankful to all that was holy, and even more to things that weren't, that she favored skirts. He pushed hers up, trailing his tongue along the velvety inside of her thigh. Buffy sat on his back, her strong legs squeezing him like the shadowy horse she had just quit. One of her hands toyed with his hair, now in long golden curls, while the other reached back to caress Angel's taut abdomen.
Spike sat up with an explosive moan. He glanced around at the darkened room then flopped back. "Bloody Hell!" Dreams like that should have ended when he was still a mortal teen as far as he was concerned. The sweaty sheets looked like the shadowy horses had been cantering laps on them. His fingers fumbled for the nightstand and his pack of fags. He slipped one between his lips and sucked in the smoke. It danced around in what was left of his dead lungs as he tried to will his body back under his control.
He could still see Buffy on the shadowy horse. He could taste Dru in his mouth. Words sprang unbidden into his mind.
"I hear the Shadowy Horses, their long manes a-shake,
Their hoofs heavy with tumult, their eyes glimmering white...
O vanity of Sleep, Hope, Dream, endless Desire,
The Horses of Disaster plunge in the heavy clay:
Beloved, let your eyes half close, and your heart beat
Over my hearts, and your hair fall over my breast, Drowning love's lonely hour in deep twilight of rest,
And hiding their tossing manes and their tumultuous feet."
Yeats. How he used to love those words when he was mortal. How he tried to be like Yeats and the other poets and what did it get him, laughed at, except for Dru. She loved him and his words. Why couldn't he still love her? What was this love for the Slayer that rotted him from within? Hope, Dream and endless Desire, it was like Yeats had looked forward into his and Angel's dead hearts, plucking out today's fears and worries. They both dreamed and hoped Buffy was alive. Both would desire her beyond reason, beyond all hope until it would destroy them. Horses of disaster awaited them if they crossed over for Buffy. Spike knew this. He knew he was better off if she never came back. He might recover himself without her. Even so, he knew he'd go to rescue her.
He forced himself out of bed, stumbling around the room on rubbery legs. He and Angel had bunked back down in their old mansion. It smelled musty and mildewy but it would serve their purpose. He wondered why he never came back here on his own instead of living in a crypt. The answer was obvious, of course. Angel had chosen this place, not him. Angel was always the one in charge and Spike always resented that control. He knew even if they got Buffy back they could never share her. Neither could truly have her and both would fight to the death to pretend they could.
He pulled his duster over his naked body, too exhausted to find his clothing. It was a bad choice, the soft leather exciting his over-sensitized skin. Ignoring it, he took a drag on the cigarette and headed outside to the garden. There was a place he could sit and look at the sun without being burned. He sat there, playing with the moss on the stone steps with his bare toes. He heard someone behind him and didn't have to turn to know it was Angel. The older vampire sat behind him, careful to stay in the shadows.
Spike turned to look at him, seeing something like worry in Angel's dark eyes. "What do you want, Peaches?"
Angel wrinkled his nose. Spike looked awful. Angel could read the agitation in his gaunt face, see the dark circles under haunted grey eyes. "You need your rest, Spike. What are you doing out here?"
Spike shook his head. "Can't sleep. Guessing you can't either."
"No, but then again my insides weren't cooked by electricity." Angel said slowly, knowing this wouldn't go over well, "You aren't well enough to come with us after Buffy."
Spike snorted. "I'll make it. I won't let you...her down. Maybe Red has a healing spell." He pursed his lips and Angel could swear he could see straight through the younger vampire's thin cheeks. He was always such a scrawny little creature that his strength and agility often amazed Angel though he would never admit it aloud. "Can healing spells even work on dead flesh?"
"I don't know. If you aren't stronger, you'll have to stay here. You're in no shape to fight." Angel's dark eyes brooked no argument.
"I would be if you let me eat some of the unnecessary Scoobs like Harris and Chase." Spike offered a sick smile.
Angel shook his head. "You couldn't even if I were to let you. Do you need me to get you some more blood out of the fridge?"
Spike made a face. "Pig's blood. It doesn't satisfy, does it? Not really. I try to make it taste better, to make it more nourishing but I can't."
Angel shrugged his broad shoulders. "Blood is blood. It doesn't matter."
Spike considered the look in Angel's eyes. "You don't believe that any more than I do."
"Shut up, Spike," he said, though something flared in his gaze that Spike wished he dared ask about.
Spike let his head drop. He took out another cigarette. "What if she's not there, Angel? What if she's really dead? What if she doesn't want rescued? If she's dead, you know she's not in hell. She wouldn't deserve to lose heaven. She won't thank us for ruining that."
Angel didn't answer at first. Spike waited him out. "I know...that's why I wasn't eager to use that scroll, the one that brought back Darla. But we have to look for her, Spike. If she's in Glory's realm, she needs us. She wants us to find her. If she's not there...if she's dead...maybe that's the end of it."
"They never come back right when they're brought back from the dead. Tried to tell that to the niblet when she wanted her mother back...funny thing, Angel. I wanted Joyce back, too. I keep telling myself I'm not domesticated, that it's just the chip but it's not. It keeps me from hurting them, but it can't make me care about them." Spike blew smoke rings. "Somehow, I care."
Angel's fingers dug into the stone step. He didn't want to think of Buffy dead, of them not finding her, or about how much Spike might really care. "She's not dead. I keep telling myself that. I have to believe that or I can't do this."
Spike nodded. "I know. Rupert arrived today, didn't he? Aren't they all at the Magic Box looking over those books? Maybe we should take the scenic sewer route and help them."
"I might. You aren't up to it. Rest or you're going to be useless," Angel warned.
Spike shrugged his shoulders, his jacket gaping open. He snatched it shut. Angel stood and offered down his hand. Spike let him help him up.
"You know, Spike, that coat comes open again and you'll have much more interesting burns than the ones you already have."
Spike saw the dark humor in his grandsire's eyes. "On things I hold more dear than dead lungs, yeah, I know."
"Thank you for the mental image that will haunt me for centuries." Angel hauled him back into the mansion. He steered Spike back to his room and waited for him to go inside.
Spike glanced back as Angel shut the door. He wanted to go with him to help but he knew Angel was right. He was uselessly weak. He went to the cooler they had put in his room so he wouldn't have to walk all the way to the fridge and he helped himself to the blood inside. He drank it cold and collapsed back into bed, praying for moonlight.
* * *
CHRYSALIS
By D.M. Evans & S.J. Smith
DISCLAIMER: Don't own nothin' in re: BtVS or AtS. We also don't own rights to William Butler Yeats.
A.N. This story went A.U. with "Blood Will Tell", part Two in this series.
*********
Chapter 1
The blonde woman wrinkled her nose against the smell of the market place. As much as the bright white sunlight hurt her eyes, the stench was that much more overwhelming. Under the effluvia of perfume rising from her and the other females she was herded onto a stage with was a sickly smell she couldn't identify.
She looked around at the women grouped with her. They were different from her; she knew that much even though she no longer had a clear self picture in her mind. Most were like the women who had dressed her, small, thin and uniform in coloring. A few others were tall, taller than she, and markedly thin. They had very large luminous eyes and brightly colored hair. Their features were fine and small but still very human-looking yet somehow she knew they weren't. Scabby ugly little creatures roamed around the stage appearing to her to be servants of some kind.
She watched as several of the small uniform females were forced to the lip of the stage they were on. She could barely see the sea of people beyond the stage through her watering eyes but she got the impression they were mostly bored men. A heavier-set tall man with a shock of hair nearly lilac in color took center stage, beginning to extol the virtues of the women huddled before him. From the silence of the crowd she assumed no one was interested in what he had to say.
She shut her eyes, burying her face in her hands. Nojh, the small woman who had brought her to the stage tore her hands away.
"You'll ruin all your beautiful make-up," Nojh hissed.
She sobbed but was too afraid to let her tears fall. What was the punishment for ruining make-up? From her companion's tone, there surely must be one. Where were her friends? Why weren't they coming for her? Didn't they know she needed them?
A word formed in her mind; angel. What did that have to do with anything? She couldn't recall any ingrained belief in angels. Then again, she couldn't remember her own name. Maybe Angel was her name. She whispered it softly, rolling it around on her tongue, trying it on for size. It didn't seem to fit. She didn't feel like an Angel. Maybe it was a pet name. She might be an Angelina or Angie but that also felt wrong. Still there was something warm and comforting about the name, Angel. She liked it a lot for some reason. It made her feel loved and needed. Maybe she was wrong and she did have a deep belief in angels. Maybe she was a nun or something, for it to have some reason that it would mean so much to her.
"Sold."
That word from the man at center stage dragged her attention back to where she was. Suddenly she understood. This was an auction. The huddle of women had just been sold off like a pair of shoes or a steak for dinner. She shook her head at the
realization this was her future. She glanced around frantically, trying to focus, trying to figure a way out. She wasn't even sure why she even thought she had a chance at escape but something in her told her she was capable of it.
She shoved her handler away and ran. Leaping from the stage, she expected to break bones when she landed but something in her body felt at home doing this. She twisted lithely and her legs expertly cushioned the shock. She ran for the wall. One of the men grabbed her but she spun out of his grasp, kicking him. He stumbled back and she took him to ground with a spin kick. She stared at the fallen man bleeding into the dirt, wondering how she had done that. The word 'Giles' popped into her mind but she wasn't quite sure what it meant. Was it a name of what she had just done? Was it someone she knew? She didn't have the answer but Giles meant something important to her.
She launched herself at the wall. Something rammed into her back and pain sizzled through her. She landed on her spine, breathless, unable to move. One of the men jammed a long metallic stick-like thing into her belly. Her body arched, her legs jumping as the thing pumped energy into her. Other men swooped on her, chained her and dragged her back to her keeper. The young female dusted at the diaphanous clothing she wore.
"Just look at you. What a mess. How will you ever find a lord worth having a prize like you if you make a mess of yourself running around like that?" Nohj snapped.
She couldn't respond to the creature, the pain still overwhelming her senses. She just lay on the stage while other females were put on the block like nothing had happened. Finally she was able to sit up. She watched as one of the thin stately women who seemed to be the same species as the men buying the female slaves was led to the block. She generated far more interest than any of the other smaller females had. The men seemed to like this woman far better. She could tell this poor woman was being sold for a lot of money or whatever they were using for currency.
"Stand," her handler said, tugging on her manacled wrist.
She refused to stand but two men dragged her to the block and when she wouldn't stand they forced her to her feet, holding her there. She fought and squirmed as much as her pain would allow, her see-through clothing flashing the audience. They howled with glee and lust.
"And here we have a very special treat for all you Lordships. I don't have to tell you how rare it is to have a member of her species here at Lexa Market. You have seen her fire and her beauty speaks for itself. Yes, she may take a little work to train her to be properly submissive but I know you are all up to the challenge. Who wants to begin the bidding?" His voice took on a suggestive tone that made a cold chill stroke her spine.
She watched them whip into a frenzy. She wanted to scream that it was wrong to buy people. She just plain wanted to scream. But she was still barely able to breathe without pain. She cried silently, knowing now her friends, if they were even looking for her, would never get to her in time. Maybe that's why she was so obsessed with the name 'Angel'. This was hell and she was waiting for one to rescue her.
"Sold!" the auctioneer cried. "To Lord Colpa. I'm sure his lordship will be most pleased with his purchase.
She didn't even attempt to fight as she was led away from the marketplace and bundled into a carriage with her handler. She watched the marketplace slide away through tear-blurred eyes, finally burying her face against the seat pillow and submitting to her body's
cries for an escape from the pain, slipping into unconsciousness.
* * *
Cool breezes caressed his check and ruffled his hair. Powerful muscles surged under him. There was a primal thrill having so much strength between his legs. Spike tossed his head back, letting the moonlight shine in his eyes. His lips parted, drinking in the air bringing tastes to his tongue. Subtle scents tickled his nose. The smell of the horse beneath him, the perfumed skin of his companions, the arousal hanging in the air, all stirred his dead flesh. He glanced around him. To his left rode Buffy on a shimmery horse the grey of shadow. Angel, as per his usual tastes, sat astride a black stallion. Giggling on his right was Dru, sidesaddle on a gleaming white mare.
They shared more than a moonlight ride. He felt near drunk on the heady perfume of all their excitement. It was all any of them could do to keep from tumbling from their mounts into a heap of writhing, aching bodies on the sands. The primordial aroma of the salt air worked its way into his senses, exploding in his mouth with the promises from ancient days, the taste of blood with its salty bouquet, the nectar of a woman's love as it coated his tongue like a reward for his gentle probings. The pounding surf filled his mind with thoughts of driving himself into Dru or Buffy or both. He had energy and enthusiasm to share.
Angel cut away from the shore guiding his mount toward a castle perched on the top of a wooded hill. Always the leader, Angel was, and in spite of himself, Spike canted his horse to follow him. It was easier to go along. Dru liked it when he and Angel frictioned along, sparks burning up everything in their way. Buffy did not enjoy being the bone caught in the jaws of two hungry dogs half as much as Dru did. She was both the disease and the cure for the vampires. She would be the death of them all.
Angel leapt off his horse, sending the beast pounding into the stable. He swept Buffy off her mount, carrying her toward the castle. Spike did likewise with Dru, watching the shadowy horses disappear into their barn into the waiting care of their servants. Dru nuzzled and bit at him as he carried her. The scents of arousal made his fangs ache in their sockets.
Angel kicked open the heavy front door and prowled into a room dominated by a fireplace and pillowy furniture set on thick rugs. A fire danced seductively in its grey granite cage. Spike spilled to the floor with Dru, thankful to all that was holy, and even more to things that weren't, that she favored skirts. He pushed hers up, trailing his tongue along the velvety inside of her thigh. Buffy sat on his back, her strong legs squeezing him like the shadowy horse she had just quit. One of her hands toyed with his hair, now in long golden curls, while the other reached back to caress Angel's taut abdomen.
Spike sat up with an explosive moan. He glanced around at the darkened room then flopped back. "Bloody Hell!" Dreams like that should have ended when he was still a mortal teen as far as he was concerned. The sweaty sheets looked like the shadowy horses had been cantering laps on them. His fingers fumbled for the nightstand and his pack of fags. He slipped one between his lips and sucked in the smoke. It danced around in what was left of his dead lungs as he tried to will his body back under his control.
He could still see Buffy on the shadowy horse. He could taste Dru in his mouth. Words sprang unbidden into his mind.
"I hear the Shadowy Horses, their long manes a-shake,
Their hoofs heavy with tumult, their eyes glimmering white...
O vanity of Sleep, Hope, Dream, endless Desire,
The Horses of Disaster plunge in the heavy clay:
Beloved, let your eyes half close, and your heart beat
Over my hearts, and your hair fall over my breast, Drowning love's lonely hour in deep twilight of rest,
And hiding their tossing manes and their tumultuous feet."
Yeats. How he used to love those words when he was mortal. How he tried to be like Yeats and the other poets and what did it get him, laughed at, except for Dru. She loved him and his words. Why couldn't he still love her? What was this love for the Slayer that rotted him from within? Hope, Dream and endless Desire, it was like Yeats had looked forward into his and Angel's dead hearts, plucking out today's fears and worries. They both dreamed and hoped Buffy was alive. Both would desire her beyond reason, beyond all hope until it would destroy them. Horses of disaster awaited them if they crossed over for Buffy. Spike knew this. He knew he was better off if she never came back. He might recover himself without her. Even so, he knew he'd go to rescue her.
He forced himself out of bed, stumbling around the room on rubbery legs. He and Angel had bunked back down in their old mansion. It smelled musty and mildewy but it would serve their purpose. He wondered why he never came back here on his own instead of living in a crypt. The answer was obvious, of course. Angel had chosen this place, not him. Angel was always the one in charge and Spike always resented that control. He knew even if they got Buffy back they could never share her. Neither could truly have her and both would fight to the death to pretend they could.
He pulled his duster over his naked body, too exhausted to find his clothing. It was a bad choice, the soft leather exciting his over-sensitized skin. Ignoring it, he took a drag on the cigarette and headed outside to the garden. There was a place he could sit and look at the sun without being burned. He sat there, playing with the moss on the stone steps with his bare toes. He heard someone behind him and didn't have to turn to know it was Angel. The older vampire sat behind him, careful to stay in the shadows.
Spike turned to look at him, seeing something like worry in Angel's dark eyes. "What do you want, Peaches?"
Angel wrinkled his nose. Spike looked awful. Angel could read the agitation in his gaunt face, see the dark circles under haunted grey eyes. "You need your rest, Spike. What are you doing out here?"
Spike shook his head. "Can't sleep. Guessing you can't either."
"No, but then again my insides weren't cooked by electricity." Angel said slowly, knowing this wouldn't go over well, "You aren't well enough to come with us after Buffy."
Spike snorted. "I'll make it. I won't let you...her down. Maybe Red has a healing spell." He pursed his lips and Angel could swear he could see straight through the younger vampire's thin cheeks. He was always such a scrawny little creature that his strength and agility often amazed Angel though he would never admit it aloud. "Can healing spells even work on dead flesh?"
"I don't know. If you aren't stronger, you'll have to stay here. You're in no shape to fight." Angel's dark eyes brooked no argument.
"I would be if you let me eat some of the unnecessary Scoobs like Harris and Chase." Spike offered a sick smile.
Angel shook his head. "You couldn't even if I were to let you. Do you need me to get you some more blood out of the fridge?"
Spike made a face. "Pig's blood. It doesn't satisfy, does it? Not really. I try to make it taste better, to make it more nourishing but I can't."
Angel shrugged his broad shoulders. "Blood is blood. It doesn't matter."
Spike considered the look in Angel's eyes. "You don't believe that any more than I do."
"Shut up, Spike," he said, though something flared in his gaze that Spike wished he dared ask about.
Spike let his head drop. He took out another cigarette. "What if she's not there, Angel? What if she's really dead? What if she doesn't want rescued? If she's dead, you know she's not in hell. She wouldn't deserve to lose heaven. She won't thank us for ruining that."
Angel didn't answer at first. Spike waited him out. "I know...that's why I wasn't eager to use that scroll, the one that brought back Darla. But we have to look for her, Spike. If she's in Glory's realm, she needs us. She wants us to find her. If she's not there...if she's dead...maybe that's the end of it."
"They never come back right when they're brought back from the dead. Tried to tell that to the niblet when she wanted her mother back...funny thing, Angel. I wanted Joyce back, too. I keep telling myself I'm not domesticated, that it's just the chip but it's not. It keeps me from hurting them, but it can't make me care about them." Spike blew smoke rings. "Somehow, I care."
Angel's fingers dug into the stone step. He didn't want to think of Buffy dead, of them not finding her, or about how much Spike might really care. "She's not dead. I keep telling myself that. I have to believe that or I can't do this."
Spike nodded. "I know. Rupert arrived today, didn't he? Aren't they all at the Magic Box looking over those books? Maybe we should take the scenic sewer route and help them."
"I might. You aren't up to it. Rest or you're going to be useless," Angel warned.
Spike shrugged his shoulders, his jacket gaping open. He snatched it shut. Angel stood and offered down his hand. Spike let him help him up.
"You know, Spike, that coat comes open again and you'll have much more interesting burns than the ones you already have."
Spike saw the dark humor in his grandsire's eyes. "On things I hold more dear than dead lungs, yeah, I know."
"Thank you for the mental image that will haunt me for centuries." Angel hauled him back into the mansion. He steered Spike back to his room and waited for him to go inside.
Spike glanced back as Angel shut the door. He wanted to go with him to help but he knew Angel was right. He was uselessly weak. He went to the cooler they had put in his room so he wouldn't have to walk all the way to the fridge and he helped himself to the blood inside. He drank it cold and collapsed back into bed, praying for moonlight.
* * *