[Disclaimer: I do not own anything Joss Whedon created...much as I'd like to own Spike]

Author's Note:

I don't like Buffy/Spike in any way, shape, or form, but this story's going to be more or less true to canon. Except for timeline -- season two of Angel hasn't even been in New Zealand yet, so I haven't seen anything other than half of season one (I had control of the TV every second Wednesday because Angel and Mum's favorite show were on at the same time) and bits and pieces of I think season two or three (holidaying in Australia, caught a few episodes). So I'm just shoving Season Six Buffy with what I have seen of Angel.

Soulful Eyes

by Adele Elisabeth

Spike stood on Cordelia's doorstep, drunkenly pondering what exactly he intended to do.

He'd heard, from eavesdropping on unsuspecting Scoobies, that Cordelia had really been good for Angel. Helping him through his dark times, being his 'human connection'.

She helped Angel. Maybe she could help him.

With that in mind, Spike knocked.

Cordelia groaned. Couldn't they call first? If this was Angel coming to check on her again, she'd stake him herself. A girl needed some alone-time, and Cordelia Chase's alone time involved chocolate, alcohol, a pathetic romance novel, and a bubble-bath. Sighing, she got out of the bath, dried off a little and slid into her bathrobe and fluffy slippers.

She opened the door to find a very different, but distinctly familiar face.

Spike was lounging on her porch, and if she wasn't mistaken, he'd been crying recently. Into a whole lot of alcohol.

"Spike? What the hell are you doing here?" she demanded, kneeling down, but not coming out of the protective barrier her home offered.

He stared at her, and Cordelia was trapped in his gaze for just long enough.

She knew that look. That haunted, suffering, guilt-ridden, pain-filled look. She saw it every time Angel let his guard down just a second. Just a second was all it took. She'd christened it his soulful eyes, privately. Cordelia never thought she'd see that look in Spike's ice-blue eyes. She knew he was chipped -- Angel had laughed so hard she thought he was going to get a happy -- but souled? This was new. Cordelia didn't know if it was her own intuition or Someone Up There wanted her to know, but she knew. Spike had a soul.

"Spike? What happened?" her tone was gentler this time. She knew he couldn't hurt her, not with his chip, and hopefully his soul meant he wouldn't try. She swallowed her doubts and reached out, coming to sit in front of him. "Spike?"

To her surprise, Spike began to sob. So she did the first thing that came to mind, she pulled him into her arms and rocked him slowly, like you would a child.

They stayed like that for quite some time.

Later on, Cordelia had managed to get Spike inside, and they were on the couch. He seemed reluctant to leave the safe, comforting feeling that Cordelia offered, with his head resting in her lap.

"Talk to me," she instructed softly. Spike hadn't felt this warm safety for a long time -- not since he was a boy, with his nanny holding him close and keeping him safe. That's who Cordelia reminded him of, he thought to himself, Nanny. "Tell me what happened."

So, he did.

He told her everything. Buffy coming back, the mutual 'using', what happened with Anya, the bathroom, how he'd never be able to face Buffy again, and what happened with the demon. Throughout, Cordelia showed no signs of judging him.

"You made some mistakes, Spike, some pretty bad mistakes," she said, finally, "But you can fix things. I'm not saying you can go and say 'Hey, sorry' and it'll all be peachy, because you're not stupid enough to believe that, but everything can be fixed. Willow tried to end the world and she's going to atone. And she doesn't even have the 'I had no soul' thing to fall back on. You want to make it up to Buffy, you want to make things better. That's a start, isn't it? Apologies won't make it all better, but they're a start. And if things are too tough for you there, you're doing what you can but they don't want to know you, if you need someplace to go, my door's open. Okay? You got me, now, and you probably got Angel too. Time heals all wounds, apparently, but that's bullshit. Sometimes you gotta heal them yourself."

Cordelia pulled the blanket up over the sleeping vampire -- souled vampire, she corrected herself -- and made sure the curtains were shut properly so the sun wouldn't fry him come morning. Then she went to her computer, and sat down to write an email.

To: xandman@hotmail.com

From: queen_c@angel.investigations.net

Subject: Urgent.

Normally I'd email Giles or Willow with something like this, but from what I've heard so far, you're my best bet, which says a lot for what's going on down there.

Okay, now, earlier tonight, Spike arrived on my doorstep, drunk as a skunk in a trunk, and he'd been crying. He had this look in his eyes, that look that Angel gets -- hurting, guilt-ridden look. Soulful, and kind of ironic. I don't know. I asked him to tell me what happened and he just broke down and start sobbing all over me. Once I managed to get him inside and calmed down -- well, he wasn't crying anymore -- I got him to tell me what happened. He told me everything. He left Sunnydale so he could get his chip out and come back and wreak some vengeance of his own. I know you're about to stop reading now and spout some crap about how you knew it all along -- he actually specifically said he wasn't going to hurt Dawnie or Anya. Though he did continue to say he'd been entertaining thoughts of turning Dawnie. Big Bad and Lil' Bad I think he said. Anyway, the demon screwed him over and he got a soul instead. So he's sleeping it off on my sofa as I type this, and I need you to do something for me. Okay, more accurately, for Spike. It's important, and I really need you to do this. Tell Buffy he's sorry, tell Dawnie he's sorry, tell them that he loves them and he's sorry and tell them that he got his soul and tell them that he'll come to Sunnydale and start trying to make up for it as soon as he's okay. Please? I haven't asked you for anything and I'm asking you now. You owe me, Alexander Harris, no matter how much you hate Spike. I can see it now "Guess what guys, Deadboy Jr's now Soulboy Jr!". Please do this? I swear I'll never ask you for anything again if you do this.

- Cordelia

"Cordelia?" Spike looked up blearily. The tap-tap-tap of the keys had stirred him from his restless sleeping.

"Go back to sleep, Spike. Maybe it'll seem better in the morning. You can stay here as long as you need to." Cordelia patted his arm and tucked him in properly. "Should I call Angel?"

"I'd rather you didn't." He replied, already on his way back into dreamland.

Cordelia checked the curtains one last time and went to drain out her bath, and go to bed.

She'd check in on Spike in the morning, and make sure he didn't have any thoughts about sunbathing.

As she turned out her lamp and settled down to sleep, Cordelia hoped Someone Up There was watching over this wayward non-Scooby just as they watched over the Scoobies. He needed it too.

***

Author's Note:

Well, that was probably fluffy, unrealistic and Cordelia wouldn't really do that in the circumstances. I know that, so if all you want to do in a review is say how completely wrong I am and how much you hated my story? Bugger off.