Title: Reunion (Working title, basically) 1/?
Author: Jamie
Email: JamieA1869@cs.com
Rating: PG so far
Spoilers: Up through season 6 (before Gone—was it Smashed or Wrecked?) for Buffy and season 3 (Daddy episode) for Angel.
Pairings: Spike/Buffy mostly, some Angel/Cordelia, I guess
Feedback: I'd really appreciate it. My second try at fanfic.
Distribution: Couple of mailing lists. FanFiction.Net
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon and Co. and no harm was meant in writing this piece. Only the idea is mine.
Summary: If the WB and UPN hadn't declared "mortal enemy" status, we would have seen how the characters in both shows would have reacted to what was happening in the other show. I wanted to know. I made it up.
PART ONE
Cordelia touched the baby's hair with one hand, marveling at the softness. She wondered idly if Angel's hair would be this soft if he didn't use so much gel. Was this what he looked like over 200 years before, in his own crib? She couldn't imagine Angel as a teenager, let alone an infant. But if he had been anything at all like his son, his mother must have loved him very much. Until he sucked her dry, she thought, cringing.
Conner's eyes opened a slit and he started crying when he didn't see his father. Cordelia stepped back from the crib. She knew she wouldn't be able to console the baby. She walked out of the room to get Angel, turning the corner and running right into his broad chest. He put his hands on her shoulders to steady her.
"What—" he began.
"He just woke up. Nothing's wrong," she assured him. She saw the panic that had been building in his gaze die down. She touched one of his hands that was still holding her shoulders, hoping to give comfort.
He gently brushed past her and entered his son's room. Cordelia followed slowly behind, allowing them some space. He reached Conner's crib, leaned over, and allowed the demon's visage to take over his human mask. Almost immediately, the baby stopped crying. Angel smiled, his fangs glistening in the soft bedroom light. He leaned over and picked up his son. The baby reached a tiny hand toward his father's features, eyes wide.
Nobody knew why Angel's demon face was the one thing guaranteed to calm the baby. Any normal child would be terrified of the yellow eyes and ridged forehead. Not to mention the big pointy teeth. But Conner wasn't exactly a normal child. They weren't quite sure what he was yet. But his father's true face quieted him when nothing else would.
Angel pulled a bottle from his back pocket and sat down on the sofa. He arranged Conner more comfortably in his arms and put the nipple in his mouth. As the baby's attention shifted away from his father and onto the bottle, Angel's features shifted back to human. He glanced up at Cordelia leaning in the doorway and smiled.
"Sit?" he asked, nodding his head at the seat next to him. He watched her walk toward him. Her form fitting long-sleeved green top rode further up, showing even more of her flat, tanned stomach. She had the infuriating habit of wearing these short, tight tops, with even tighter hip-hugging pants. It was enough to drive any man insane. Their eyes met and locked. By the look in her dark gaze and the more pronounced swaying of her hips, she knew the affect she had on him.
And then there was a different look. She stopped suddenly and pain clouded her vision. She grabbed onto her head with both hands, let out a long, loud moan and slumped to the floor, unconscious.
"Cordy!" Angel cried.
▪ ▪ ▪
Angel hurried down the stairs of the old hotel he called home. He entered the area off the front lobby that they used as offices. He carried a diaper bag in one hand, a black duffel bag in the other, and a green duffel hanging by a strap over his shoulder. He put all three down and looked at the others gathered around the room. Cordelia entered the room behind him, much more slowly, carrying Conner.
Fred looked up from her seat in front of the computer. Wesley was leaning against the desk next to her, watching what she had on the screen.
"Yes, that's—" he stopped when he noticed Fred's attention had gone elsewhere. He looked over to Angel, saw the bags, and immediately stood up straight and alert. "What is it? Is there trouble? Someone for Conner?" He made a move toward the door. "Vampire or demon? I'll just grab some weapons—"
"Wes." Angel had moved over to his desk to pocket his cell phone. His black trench coat flowed out around him.
"Hmm?" Wesley asked, distracted. He was almost out the door.
"No trouble. Calm down."
"Oh. Right, then." Wesley saw how Cordelia leaned near the doorway, one hand firmly around the baby, the other held gingerly to her temple. "Cordelia? Was it a vision?" he asked, concerned.
"That, or someone just stuck a spike through my eyeball," she answered softly. She shifted the baby to her other arm.
Fred got up from the computer. "Let me take him. You sit down, okay?"
Cordelia handed the cooing baby over gratefully. Angel was in too much of a hurry to think about how weak she was right now. She sank into the seat that Fred had vacated, brushed a hand through her dark, shoulder-length hair and sighed.
"Well, what's the trouble? How much time do we have?" Wesley asked.
"It's Buffy," Angel said.
"Oh," Fred breathed. She looked down at the baby in her arms and bounced nervously up and down.
Cordelia glanced over at her. She knew how Fred felt about Angel. The poor girl had been obvious about it from the very start. Even though Fred knew there was no future for her and Angel, she could still get hurt.
"Buffy. Is it serious?" Wesley asked. He had a sore spot, where Buffy was concerned. It was hard to forget her lack of respect when he'd been her Watcher, however briefly. Even if he hadn't really earned it, he thought to himself.
"I don't know," Cordelia replied. "It was Spike." Again, she looked at Fred. "You don't know him, Fred. Consider yourself lucky."
Angel added, "Spike is…one of my family." At Fred's confused look, he continued. "I sired Drusilla and Dru sired Spike. So he's kind of like my grandchild." Fred nodded. "We taught him well, Dru and I. Made him into a vicious killer." For a moment, he got a proud, faraway look on his face. Then he darkened. "He's killed two slayers already. He's been after Buffy for years."
"If Spike's back in Sunnydale, it can't be good. Last time—" Wesley began
Cordelia broke in, "Last time he was here, he tortured Angel. And pretty much liked it." She brightened for a moment. "Although he was the only one to notice I'd lost weight."
Fred sat down in another chair. She looked scared. "What…what did you see, Cordelia? Is…she hurt?"
Cordelia shrugged. "Hard to tell. They were fighting. Pretty rough, but that's nothing new. They brought a house down around them. I couldn't tell if it was Buffy's house, or if anyone else was around. It was all too disjointed. Stupid visions should come with some 'For Dummies' instructions." She rubbed her temple again, closing her eyes. "And some aspirin would be nice."
"We're going," Angel said simply.
"Oh, of course," Wesley agreed. "Just let me pack a satchel." He moved toward the door again.
"No."
Wesley looked at Angel, confused. "But—"
"Cordelia and I will go. I'm not leaving Conner here, not with who knows what after him. Cordy will come to help with him. You two stay here. If we need you or Gunn, I'll let you know. This is personal." For a moment, his eyes flashed yellow with that feral look—Angelus' look.
Wesley nodded. "Yes, quite. We'll stay here, then."
Angel walked over to Fred and gently took his son. He placed a hand under her chin and looked into her eyes. "I'll be back before you know it. Don't worry."
"I know." She dropped her eyes shyly. This Spike character sounded deadly. But she knew Angel could handle whatever was thrown at him. "Bye!" she said, forcing some cheerfulness into her voice.
Angel handed the baby back to Cordelia. She stood without assistance, obviously feeling better. He grabbed their bags and they left for Sunnydale.
▪ ▪ ▪
"Ew. Give this boy a breath mint!" Buffy muttered as she pushed the vampire off of her and got to her feet. The vamp snarled, pushing himself to his knees. She didn't hesitate; she kicked him in the stomach, hard. He flew a few yards away, landing on his back. She rushed to his side and drove Mr. Pointy home. "Dusted," she said.
There was the sound of clapping from behind her. She whirled around, stake poised, and assumed a fighting stance. She relaxed when she saw who greeted her.
"Nice job, Slayer."
"Spike. What do you want?" she asked tiredly. She really wasn't in the mood for him right now. She put her stake away and brushed the dust from her leather jacket.
"Just enjoyin' the show, pet," he said. He smirked and raised his scarred eyebrow suggestively.
"Go away." With that, she turned on her heel and walked away from him, toward the exit of the cemetery. She'd only gotten a short way when he fell into step beside her. She glanced over at him and scowled. "Was it the 'go' or the 'away' that you failed to get?"
"I just heard what you really meant."
"Oh, yeah? And what was that, oh wise one?" She walked faster, hoping he'd get tired of following. His taller legs kept pace easily.
"Come here," he said, in a bad imitation of her voice. He thought a second then added, "Sexy."
She stopped walking and took a deep, steadying breath. "I don't have time for this."
He was looking at her curiously, waiting to see her next move. She didn't disappoint. She punched him in the face, almost breaking his nose. He staggered back, raised a hand to his bleeding nose and grinned. So that was how she wanted to play, was it? He could handle that.
She turned to walk away again. He kicked her in her side and she fell forward, face in the dirt of a fresh grave. She sprang to her feet, landing a roundhouse kick in the middle of his chest, followed immediately by a fist in his eye. He recovered quickly and threw her into the wall of a mausoleum. She smacked her head, hard.
He watched as she caught her breath, ready to defend himself. "What s'matter, Slayer? Too much for you, am I?"
She stood up straight but made no move to attack. Her expression became hard, determined. "Not enough, Spike. Not even close."
His cocky grin wavered at her words. How she managed to hurt him over and over, he'd never know. "Right, then." He turned toward his own crypt and said over his shoulder, "I'll leave you be."
She felt a twinge of remorse. "Spike."
He stopped, but didn't turn to face her. "Yeah, luv?" he said quietly, cautiously. Ready for his undead heart to be ripped to shreds.
"I just…I can't. I can't give you what you want." She took a step toward him as he turned around. Her expression asked his understanding. "It's just not in me. Not now. Not anymore." She shrugged her shoulders, defeated.
"Oh, but it is, pet. Give me a chance; I'll show you how much."
"No. I can't. It'll destroy me." She touched a hand to her temple. It was wet with her blood. She was exhausted. It was so hard just going day to day. She couldn't handle anything more than that.
Spike nodded, his eyes sad. "When you are, you know where to find me, Buffy." He turned and walked away.
She watched him go, not moving. She couldn't take what he offered. She wasn't strong enough.
▪ ▪ ▪
PART TWO
Angel drove into Sunnydale a few hours before sunrise. Cordelia started to rouse when he parked at the mansion. She had slept most of the way, which was fine with him. It gave him time to think about her vision. If Spike had hurt Buffy…
Buffy. He sighed at the thought of her. They had so much history together, so much hurt. And even a little happiness thrown into the mix. But that was a long time ago. Things were different now. He got out of the convertible and reached into the back to get Conner from his car seat. His last meeting with Buffy had been…strange. He didn't know how else to put it. They'd been awkward around each other. It wasn't just that she'd been newly returned from the grave, either. It was more than that. They'd both changed so much.
Cordelia watched him from the passenger seat as he gathered his son. He had a very intense expression on his face, his mind obviously far away. She wondered what he was thinking, what had him so distracted and sad. Then she thought about where they were and sighed herself. She unstrapped her seatbelt and got out of the car, going to take the still sleeping Conner from his father. Sunnydale. She couldn't believe she was back here.
Angel grabbed their bags from the trunk and led the way into the old mansion. Neither had said anything. They both knew the other was lost in their own thoughts and memories. Words weren't needed.
The mansion was much as he'd left it. Sparsely furnished, cold and dark. But it had beds and it was livable. They'd be fine. He put their bags on the floor and went around the room lighting candles.
Cordelia stood inside the doorway, looking around. She felt even weirder being inside this place. Angel had so much history here, history she'd never really been a part of. He and Buffy had fought to the death somewhere in this place, when he'd lost his soul and turned really evil. She'd been forced to send him to Hell to save the world, even though his soul had been returned to him and he again became the man she'd loved.
When Angel had returned from Hell many months later, Cordelia remembered being scared for herself and her friends. What if he turned evil again and tried to kill them all? But she had still been removed from this place, from Angel himself back in those days. It wasn't until they'd met up in L.A. that they'd become close. Back in Sunnydale they had just been acquaintances.
Cordelia didn't particularly like the memories that were flooding back to her now that they were back. She had been very different in high school. Shallow, vain—well, she was still vain, she admitted to herself. And why shouldn't she be? She knew she looked good.
"Cord," Angel said softly, startling her after the long period of silence.
She looked up at him. He stood by the stairs with their bags. "Yeah?"
"Why don't you come upstairs, settle in. It'll be dawn soon." He paused for a moment. "Or, I guess you don't have to hang around here with me all day. You can go out, see the gang."
Her heart raced at the thought. She didn't think she was ready to brave the guys by herself quite yet. It had been too long since she'd been back. "Um, no. That's okay. I wouldn't want to leave you and Conner here alone all day. You couldn't manage without me," she said, smiling. Trying to hide how nervous she was.
He nodded. "Okay. We'll get some rest today. Tonight, I hunt," he added, his eyes narrowing.
Cordelia felt almost sorry for Spike. She knew what Angel was capable of, even when he had a soul. Spike had really messed with the wrong people this time.
▪ ▪ ▪
Spike peaked into the front window of the Magic Box. Anya and the whelp sat at the table, apparently bickering as usual. Dawn sat at the other end, a textbook spread in front of her. There was no sign of Buffy. He heard the sound of a shoe on the pavement behind him and whirled around, spilling some of his newly opened bottle of whiskey in the process.
"Bloody Hell, Red!" he scowled, licking some of the liquid off of his wrist. "Whatcha sneakin' up on a bloke like that for? It's a sin to waste liquor."
Willow stood there a moment, twisting her hands together in front of her. "I'm sorry," she said softly.
Spike looked more closely at her, noticing the dark circles under her eyes, the dullness of her normally vibrant red hair. He hadn't seen her since that night—that night she'd almost killed Dawn and herself. He shuddered at the thought of the Little Bit gone.
"You okay, pet?" he asked, concerned. He'd always liked the witch. Even back when he'd been trying to kill her, he'd had a soft spot in his heart for her. She was normally nicer to him than the others, more tolerant. But with the magic getting out of hand, and Tara leaving…she couldn't be doing well.
"Yeah. I'm fine. Everybody just…no. They should. They have every right to be mad. I'm scum. No, I'm lower than scum. I'm scum spawn!" Her eyes welled with tears, but she refused to let them fall. She figured she'd cried enough. She didn't deserve the release it brought.
Spike's eyes widened at her display. This was the old Willow shining through; the Willow he'd met when he first came to Sunnydale. Shy and unsure, not the powerful witch he'd seen blossom over the past two years. This was the Willow whose attempt at a spell to bring back her boyfriend resulted in his brief engagement with Buffy. The confidence she'd found in her powers and her love affair with that other witch, Tara, seemed gone.
"Willow."
She calmed down when he used her real name. She looked into his eyes. "I'm sorry, Spike," she said, dropping her gaze back down to her clasped hands. "For that night. For…Dawn. I'm so sorry." This time the tears wouldn't be quelled. She sobbed and covered her face with her hands.
"Now, now," Spike said, stepping forward to awkwardly put his arm around her shoulders. This whole consoling thing was still very much new to him. He stood there for a moment, just holding her lightly to his side while she cried. Then, "Shh. Stop crying. It's not all that bad."
Her sobs quieted as she stepped out of the half-embrace and glanced up at him, confused. "Not that bad? Don't you realize what I've done?"
"Yeah, sure. You messed up. Big time. But it could be a hell of a lot worse." He looked at her seriously. "Little Bit could be dead. You could be dead. That's worse, luv." He sighed, frustrated. "When did I get to be the bleedin' heart, huh? You tell anyone, I'll deny this ever happened, got it?" He tried scowling fiercely at her and failed.
She nodded, a small smile appearing at one corner of her mouth.
He studied her a moment, nodded once. "What you did, yeah, pretty bad. But you can still fix it. Them in there," he pointed at the Magic Box, "they love you. Every one of 'em. You work, they'll forgive, don't you doubt it. If Buffy can forgive you, so can the rest of the lot." He paused a moment, thinking. "Nibblet, now. She'll take a bit longer. Scared her right good, you did. But she'll come 'round."
Willow looked at him, seeing him in a different light. He really had changed. His words made sense—they gave her hope. For that, she'd be forever grateful. She hopped forward quickly and hugged him, before he could back away. She felt him return it, however briefly, and smiled a little.
"Thank you, Spike." She stepped back and made a move toward the door of the shop. She paused and turned around, standing a bit taller, a big more confident. "I'm sorry we didn't tell you about Buffy. When we…brought her back. You were one of us and it wasn't fair." With that, she turned and entered the shop, closing the door softly behind her.
Spike stood there, looking at the closed door, a grin working at the corners of his mouth. "Bloody hell," he muttered, running a hand through his bleached locks. He took a swig off of his almost forgotten bottle of whiskey and turned away. "Nancy-boy. Nothing but a nancy-boy, that's what you are," he said sardonically to himself. "Used to be the Big Bad. When'd I become a ponce like Angelus?"
He headed toward his cemetery. "Time to whoop a little demon ass," he said out loud. "Real manly, killing and maiming. Just like the good ol' days. Only, used to be humans were the victims, not demons. But, hey. We adjust."
He took another swig from his bottle. The plan had been to pick up the bottle of whiskey, return to his crypt, and drink himself into sweet oblivion. Maybe then he'd stop dreaming about Buffy. That plan had been seriously averted by Willow's appearance. He felt almost…good, having helped her out some, put things a big more in perspective for her. He really didn't feel like going home to drink and then just wake up to a bloody hangover tomorrow. He felt like killing something. And even if he couldn't kill humans, he could beat some demons to a bloody pulp.
▪ ▪ ▪
The sound of a shrill version of The Simpsons theme song broke the silence of the cemetery. Angel fumbled quickly in his pocket, wincing at Cordelia's latest surprise for his cell phone. He pushed the button and put the tiny thing to his ear, feeling stupid as usual. He hated cell phones.
"Conner needs milk," Cordelia said, before he could utter a greeting.
His eyes scanned the graveyard to see if the loud ringing had stirred up anything. No sign of movement at all. He turned his attention back to the phone, but never fully away from his surroundings. Years of experience had taught him to be aware at all times. If you weren't, you could end up dead.
"It's gone already?" he asked in a whisper.
"I think he gets his appetite from you bloodsuckers, right? What's that word? Voracious?"
"That an SAT word? Or a Wesley word?" He heard a sound off to his left and spun around, almost dropping the phone. Just a squirrel.
"Actually, Giles. I think. Could be Wesley. Too easy for SATs." Her voice became muffled for a second. "Who's that? Is that Conner? Is that the handsome boy?"
He smiled at the image of Cordelia making baby faces at his son. He turned serious quickly as he heard some approaching from far off. "Cord, gotta go. Someone's coming. I'll call back," he said, barely audible. He ended the call and slipped the phone back into his trench coat, ducking behind a crumbling mausoleum.
He heard cheery whistling as the figure entered the cemetery. The whistling stopped as the figure took a drink from the bottle in one hand. When the figure resumed, Angel recognized the song—the Ramones. Angel narrowed his eyes as he took in the shock of bleached hair in the darkness. Good. He could get this over with early and get home to Cordy and Conner.
▪ ▪ ▪
PART THREE
Spike put the lid back on the bottle and slid it into his coat pocket. He reached into his other pocket and got out a pack of cigarettes and his silver lighter. He lit up, inhaling smoke into dead lungs. He did it out of habit, rather than anything else. It felt good to hold that cigarette and go through the motions of smoking. Reassuring, almost.
His eyes scanned the dark graveyard as he smoked. He really hoped there'd be something out there he could thrash. It'd be such a waste if there weren't, with the mood he was in. He felt…alive. Being undead, that was a hard feeling to get. And when he did, killing something normally felt that much better, reaffirming that he was alive and they…Well, they weren't anymore.
There wasn't much of a moon tonight, so the shadows were thick. He didn't see any movement. He turned and walked deeper into the cemetery, flicking his cigarette away. Trouble didn't normally lurk near the gates. He'd wander further in where there would more likely be some action. One could hope, at least.
He thought he heard the sound of a carefully placed footstep somewhere behind him. Someone trying real hard not to be heard. He kept his cool and kept walking, resuming his humming. Spike was pretty well known around here. He was curious as to who would try to sneak up on him. He turned at the corner of a mausoleum and ducked inside the entrance.
His would-be attacker stopped walking just beyond the door. Must be a smart one, Spike thought to himself. He couldn't see who—or what—it was. Then Spike could here the sound of the assailant walking—in the other direction! Oh, no. That wasn't part of the plan. He jumped out of his hiding spot, ready to pounce. There was nobody in sight.
"What the…" he muttered. "What's a bloke gotta do to get some action 'round here?" He threw up his hands, defeated, and continued on his way. A dark figure stepped out from behind the mausoleum to block his path. Must have snuck around, Spike thought vaguely. Then he recognized the figure.
"Peaches!" he cried with his usual cocky grin. "How's the dick business treating you?" He reached into his pocket for another cigarette, watching Angel the entire time. What was he doing here? He lit up and waited for his grandsire to say something. When he didn't speak, Spike took a single drag off his cigarette and flicked it away. He made a move to walk past Angel. "Well, nice to see you, mate. But, you know how it is. Things to do…"
Angel didn't move out of his way. He had his hands in his pockets and his stance appeared relaxed. But Spike could sense him coiled, ready to spring. There was the hint of malevolence in the air. He raised his eyebrows at Angel, suspicious. What was going on? "Angelus? Did you—did Buffy—when…" he trailed off. No. Buffy wouldn't have. Not with the risk. Not with what they'd shared…
"Oh, bugger. You shagged?" He didn't want to believe it of her, but what would have stopped her? With her being so different lately, who's to say she wouldn't have done the nasty with Angel? She could have done it just to spite him.
Angelus' human mask dropped as he surged forward and punched Spike in the face. Spike, taken by surprise, fell back, rubbing his jaw. He recovered quickly, letting his vampire features take over as well and kicked Angelus in the leg with the toe of his boot. Angelus fell to one side as his knee buckled. He growled angrily and leaped at Spike, tackling him. They fell on top of a tombstone, both getting cut in the process. Each tried to gain control of the battle as they wrestled, hitting each other when they could. Spike rolled on top and straddled Angelus, punching him hard in the face. Angelus shoved Spike away and leapt to his feet. Spike quickly followed and kicked Angelus in his chest, knocking him back down. He tried to jump on top of his grandsire, but Angelus rolled away a few yards and got to his feet, causing Spike to sprawl gracelessly in the dirt. Angelus withdrew a stake and moved to attack again when he was kicked from behind, forcing him back to the ground.
"What the hell is going on?"
Spike got to his feet, gingerly touching his split lip. "Slayer," he said, nodding his head at her.
Buffy ignored him. She placed her hands on her hips, her expression angry. "Angel? What are you doing here?"
Angel rolled over and sat up, not bothering to stand. "Buffy. Cordelia—"
"He's evil," Spike said calmly, lighting another cigarette. Sometime during the fight, his whiskey had fallen out of his pocket. He didn't see it in the near vicinity, but he thanked his lucky stars the bottle hadn't broken and spilled all over his duster.
"No, I'm not!" Angel said, glaring at him. "You're evil."
"Well, yeah," he agreed. He saw the stake on the ground next to Angel. "You were gonna stake me!" he accused, shocked.
"Stop it, both of you." Buffy ran both hands through her hair, frustrated. What was going on here? Why was Angel back? And why was he trying to kill Spike? Spike had said… "Angel? Are you…grrr?" she asked, baring her teeth in a poor imitation of vamp face. She touched the stake in the back of her jeans, making sure it was still there.
"No! I haven't—no." He shook his head, his expression slightly hurt.
"You two didn't shag, then?" Spike said, trying to hide his happiness.
"What?" Buffy said, surprised. "No! Of course not!" She glared at Spike. "What gave you that idea?"
"Just…he had these evil vibes comin' off him. Put two an' two together." Before he realized what was happening, he was flat on his back again. He stared up at a very angry Slayer and held up his hands, surrendering. "Right, then. 'Course you wouldn't. Once you've had the best—"
She kicked him in the side before he could finish. "Forget this. You two kill each other. I don't care." With that, she turned and walked away, muttering and shaking her head as she went.
"What the—" Angel still sat on the ground, watching Buffy walk away. He shook his head in confusion. "What just happened here?" he asked Spike.
"Peaches," Spike said, getting slowly to his feet. "You attacked me, remember? Or has too much hair gel messed with your head?" He started looking around at the ground around them. "D'you see a bottle anywhere? Lost my bloody whiskey."
"William."
Spike stopped his search around the broken tombstone to stare at Angel. That name always got his attention. He didn't know whether to attack Angel for daring to use it or stand up straight and docile like a good little soldier for his grandsire. "Listen, wanker. Not even you can call me that anymore."
Angel stood up. "Got your attention, didn't it?"
"Right you are." He looked at his grandsire curiously, waiting to see what was so bloody important he had to dredge up the past.
"Why did Buffy protect you?"
Spike snorted, amused. "Protect? Not likely. More like saving me for herself, probably."
Angel shook his head, looking back to where Buffy had walked out of sight. He had a thoughtful expression on his face. "No. That wasn't it."
"You're gonna have to ask her, mate." Spike triumphantly picked up his newly found bottle, uncapped it, and took a long drink. "Want some?" he offered, holding it out to Angel.
Angel accepted. "Thanks." He took a drink and handed the bottle back.
"Can I go now? Or do you wanna fight s'more?" Spike asked, not sure which answer he'd prefer. It was always fun fighting Angel.
"Go ahead."
Spike turned to walk toward his crypt.
"But, Spike?"
"Yeah?" he said over his shoulder.
"We're not finished here."
"Didn't expect we were."
Angel turned to walk in the other direction. He had no idea what had happened with Buffy back there but tomorrow was soon enough to find out. He still needed to pick up some milk.
TO BE CONTINUED
Author: Jamie
Email: JamieA1869@cs.com
Rating: PG so far
Spoilers: Up through season 6 (before Gone—was it Smashed or Wrecked?) for Buffy and season 3 (Daddy episode) for Angel.
Pairings: Spike/Buffy mostly, some Angel/Cordelia, I guess
Feedback: I'd really appreciate it. My second try at fanfic.
Distribution: Couple of mailing lists. FanFiction.Net
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon and Co. and no harm was meant in writing this piece. Only the idea is mine.
Summary: If the WB and UPN hadn't declared "mortal enemy" status, we would have seen how the characters in both shows would have reacted to what was happening in the other show. I wanted to know. I made it up.
PART ONE
Cordelia touched the baby's hair with one hand, marveling at the softness. She wondered idly if Angel's hair would be this soft if he didn't use so much gel. Was this what he looked like over 200 years before, in his own crib? She couldn't imagine Angel as a teenager, let alone an infant. But if he had been anything at all like his son, his mother must have loved him very much. Until he sucked her dry, she thought, cringing.
Conner's eyes opened a slit and he started crying when he didn't see his father. Cordelia stepped back from the crib. She knew she wouldn't be able to console the baby. She walked out of the room to get Angel, turning the corner and running right into his broad chest. He put his hands on her shoulders to steady her.
"What—" he began.
"He just woke up. Nothing's wrong," she assured him. She saw the panic that had been building in his gaze die down. She touched one of his hands that was still holding her shoulders, hoping to give comfort.
He gently brushed past her and entered his son's room. Cordelia followed slowly behind, allowing them some space. He reached Conner's crib, leaned over, and allowed the demon's visage to take over his human mask. Almost immediately, the baby stopped crying. Angel smiled, his fangs glistening in the soft bedroom light. He leaned over and picked up his son. The baby reached a tiny hand toward his father's features, eyes wide.
Nobody knew why Angel's demon face was the one thing guaranteed to calm the baby. Any normal child would be terrified of the yellow eyes and ridged forehead. Not to mention the big pointy teeth. But Conner wasn't exactly a normal child. They weren't quite sure what he was yet. But his father's true face quieted him when nothing else would.
Angel pulled a bottle from his back pocket and sat down on the sofa. He arranged Conner more comfortably in his arms and put the nipple in his mouth. As the baby's attention shifted away from his father and onto the bottle, Angel's features shifted back to human. He glanced up at Cordelia leaning in the doorway and smiled.
"Sit?" he asked, nodding his head at the seat next to him. He watched her walk toward him. Her form fitting long-sleeved green top rode further up, showing even more of her flat, tanned stomach. She had the infuriating habit of wearing these short, tight tops, with even tighter hip-hugging pants. It was enough to drive any man insane. Their eyes met and locked. By the look in her dark gaze and the more pronounced swaying of her hips, she knew the affect she had on him.
And then there was a different look. She stopped suddenly and pain clouded her vision. She grabbed onto her head with both hands, let out a long, loud moan and slumped to the floor, unconscious.
"Cordy!" Angel cried.
▪ ▪ ▪
Angel hurried down the stairs of the old hotel he called home. He entered the area off the front lobby that they used as offices. He carried a diaper bag in one hand, a black duffel bag in the other, and a green duffel hanging by a strap over his shoulder. He put all three down and looked at the others gathered around the room. Cordelia entered the room behind him, much more slowly, carrying Conner.
Fred looked up from her seat in front of the computer. Wesley was leaning against the desk next to her, watching what she had on the screen.
"Yes, that's—" he stopped when he noticed Fred's attention had gone elsewhere. He looked over to Angel, saw the bags, and immediately stood up straight and alert. "What is it? Is there trouble? Someone for Conner?" He made a move toward the door. "Vampire or demon? I'll just grab some weapons—"
"Wes." Angel had moved over to his desk to pocket his cell phone. His black trench coat flowed out around him.
"Hmm?" Wesley asked, distracted. He was almost out the door.
"No trouble. Calm down."
"Oh. Right, then." Wesley saw how Cordelia leaned near the doorway, one hand firmly around the baby, the other held gingerly to her temple. "Cordelia? Was it a vision?" he asked, concerned.
"That, or someone just stuck a spike through my eyeball," she answered softly. She shifted the baby to her other arm.
Fred got up from the computer. "Let me take him. You sit down, okay?"
Cordelia handed the cooing baby over gratefully. Angel was in too much of a hurry to think about how weak she was right now. She sank into the seat that Fred had vacated, brushed a hand through her dark, shoulder-length hair and sighed.
"Well, what's the trouble? How much time do we have?" Wesley asked.
"It's Buffy," Angel said.
"Oh," Fred breathed. She looked down at the baby in her arms and bounced nervously up and down.
Cordelia glanced over at her. She knew how Fred felt about Angel. The poor girl had been obvious about it from the very start. Even though Fred knew there was no future for her and Angel, she could still get hurt.
"Buffy. Is it serious?" Wesley asked. He had a sore spot, where Buffy was concerned. It was hard to forget her lack of respect when he'd been her Watcher, however briefly. Even if he hadn't really earned it, he thought to himself.
"I don't know," Cordelia replied. "It was Spike." Again, she looked at Fred. "You don't know him, Fred. Consider yourself lucky."
Angel added, "Spike is…one of my family." At Fred's confused look, he continued. "I sired Drusilla and Dru sired Spike. So he's kind of like my grandchild." Fred nodded. "We taught him well, Dru and I. Made him into a vicious killer." For a moment, he got a proud, faraway look on his face. Then he darkened. "He's killed two slayers already. He's been after Buffy for years."
"If Spike's back in Sunnydale, it can't be good. Last time—" Wesley began
Cordelia broke in, "Last time he was here, he tortured Angel. And pretty much liked it." She brightened for a moment. "Although he was the only one to notice I'd lost weight."
Fred sat down in another chair. She looked scared. "What…what did you see, Cordelia? Is…she hurt?"
Cordelia shrugged. "Hard to tell. They were fighting. Pretty rough, but that's nothing new. They brought a house down around them. I couldn't tell if it was Buffy's house, or if anyone else was around. It was all too disjointed. Stupid visions should come with some 'For Dummies' instructions." She rubbed her temple again, closing her eyes. "And some aspirin would be nice."
"We're going," Angel said simply.
"Oh, of course," Wesley agreed. "Just let me pack a satchel." He moved toward the door again.
"No."
Wesley looked at Angel, confused. "But—"
"Cordelia and I will go. I'm not leaving Conner here, not with who knows what after him. Cordy will come to help with him. You two stay here. If we need you or Gunn, I'll let you know. This is personal." For a moment, his eyes flashed yellow with that feral look—Angelus' look.
Wesley nodded. "Yes, quite. We'll stay here, then."
Angel walked over to Fred and gently took his son. He placed a hand under her chin and looked into her eyes. "I'll be back before you know it. Don't worry."
"I know." She dropped her eyes shyly. This Spike character sounded deadly. But she knew Angel could handle whatever was thrown at him. "Bye!" she said, forcing some cheerfulness into her voice.
Angel handed the baby back to Cordelia. She stood without assistance, obviously feeling better. He grabbed their bags and they left for Sunnydale.
▪ ▪ ▪
"Ew. Give this boy a breath mint!" Buffy muttered as she pushed the vampire off of her and got to her feet. The vamp snarled, pushing himself to his knees. She didn't hesitate; she kicked him in the stomach, hard. He flew a few yards away, landing on his back. She rushed to his side and drove Mr. Pointy home. "Dusted," she said.
There was the sound of clapping from behind her. She whirled around, stake poised, and assumed a fighting stance. She relaxed when she saw who greeted her.
"Nice job, Slayer."
"Spike. What do you want?" she asked tiredly. She really wasn't in the mood for him right now. She put her stake away and brushed the dust from her leather jacket.
"Just enjoyin' the show, pet," he said. He smirked and raised his scarred eyebrow suggestively.
"Go away." With that, she turned on her heel and walked away from him, toward the exit of the cemetery. She'd only gotten a short way when he fell into step beside her. She glanced over at him and scowled. "Was it the 'go' or the 'away' that you failed to get?"
"I just heard what you really meant."
"Oh, yeah? And what was that, oh wise one?" She walked faster, hoping he'd get tired of following. His taller legs kept pace easily.
"Come here," he said, in a bad imitation of her voice. He thought a second then added, "Sexy."
She stopped walking and took a deep, steadying breath. "I don't have time for this."
He was looking at her curiously, waiting to see her next move. She didn't disappoint. She punched him in the face, almost breaking his nose. He staggered back, raised a hand to his bleeding nose and grinned. So that was how she wanted to play, was it? He could handle that.
She turned to walk away again. He kicked her in her side and she fell forward, face in the dirt of a fresh grave. She sprang to her feet, landing a roundhouse kick in the middle of his chest, followed immediately by a fist in his eye. He recovered quickly and threw her into the wall of a mausoleum. She smacked her head, hard.
He watched as she caught her breath, ready to defend himself. "What s'matter, Slayer? Too much for you, am I?"
She stood up straight but made no move to attack. Her expression became hard, determined. "Not enough, Spike. Not even close."
His cocky grin wavered at her words. How she managed to hurt him over and over, he'd never know. "Right, then." He turned toward his own crypt and said over his shoulder, "I'll leave you be."
She felt a twinge of remorse. "Spike."
He stopped, but didn't turn to face her. "Yeah, luv?" he said quietly, cautiously. Ready for his undead heart to be ripped to shreds.
"I just…I can't. I can't give you what you want." She took a step toward him as he turned around. Her expression asked his understanding. "It's just not in me. Not now. Not anymore." She shrugged her shoulders, defeated.
"Oh, but it is, pet. Give me a chance; I'll show you how much."
"No. I can't. It'll destroy me." She touched a hand to her temple. It was wet with her blood. She was exhausted. It was so hard just going day to day. She couldn't handle anything more than that.
Spike nodded, his eyes sad. "When you are, you know where to find me, Buffy." He turned and walked away.
She watched him go, not moving. She couldn't take what he offered. She wasn't strong enough.
▪ ▪ ▪
PART TWO
Angel drove into Sunnydale a few hours before sunrise. Cordelia started to rouse when he parked at the mansion. She had slept most of the way, which was fine with him. It gave him time to think about her vision. If Spike had hurt Buffy…
Buffy. He sighed at the thought of her. They had so much history together, so much hurt. And even a little happiness thrown into the mix. But that was a long time ago. Things were different now. He got out of the convertible and reached into the back to get Conner from his car seat. His last meeting with Buffy had been…strange. He didn't know how else to put it. They'd been awkward around each other. It wasn't just that she'd been newly returned from the grave, either. It was more than that. They'd both changed so much.
Cordelia watched him from the passenger seat as he gathered his son. He had a very intense expression on his face, his mind obviously far away. She wondered what he was thinking, what had him so distracted and sad. Then she thought about where they were and sighed herself. She unstrapped her seatbelt and got out of the car, going to take the still sleeping Conner from his father. Sunnydale. She couldn't believe she was back here.
Angel grabbed their bags from the trunk and led the way into the old mansion. Neither had said anything. They both knew the other was lost in their own thoughts and memories. Words weren't needed.
The mansion was much as he'd left it. Sparsely furnished, cold and dark. But it had beds and it was livable. They'd be fine. He put their bags on the floor and went around the room lighting candles.
Cordelia stood inside the doorway, looking around. She felt even weirder being inside this place. Angel had so much history here, history she'd never really been a part of. He and Buffy had fought to the death somewhere in this place, when he'd lost his soul and turned really evil. She'd been forced to send him to Hell to save the world, even though his soul had been returned to him and he again became the man she'd loved.
When Angel had returned from Hell many months later, Cordelia remembered being scared for herself and her friends. What if he turned evil again and tried to kill them all? But she had still been removed from this place, from Angel himself back in those days. It wasn't until they'd met up in L.A. that they'd become close. Back in Sunnydale they had just been acquaintances.
Cordelia didn't particularly like the memories that were flooding back to her now that they were back. She had been very different in high school. Shallow, vain—well, she was still vain, she admitted to herself. And why shouldn't she be? She knew she looked good.
"Cord," Angel said softly, startling her after the long period of silence.
She looked up at him. He stood by the stairs with their bags. "Yeah?"
"Why don't you come upstairs, settle in. It'll be dawn soon." He paused for a moment. "Or, I guess you don't have to hang around here with me all day. You can go out, see the gang."
Her heart raced at the thought. She didn't think she was ready to brave the guys by herself quite yet. It had been too long since she'd been back. "Um, no. That's okay. I wouldn't want to leave you and Conner here alone all day. You couldn't manage without me," she said, smiling. Trying to hide how nervous she was.
He nodded. "Okay. We'll get some rest today. Tonight, I hunt," he added, his eyes narrowing.
Cordelia felt almost sorry for Spike. She knew what Angel was capable of, even when he had a soul. Spike had really messed with the wrong people this time.
▪ ▪ ▪
Spike peaked into the front window of the Magic Box. Anya and the whelp sat at the table, apparently bickering as usual. Dawn sat at the other end, a textbook spread in front of her. There was no sign of Buffy. He heard the sound of a shoe on the pavement behind him and whirled around, spilling some of his newly opened bottle of whiskey in the process.
"Bloody Hell, Red!" he scowled, licking some of the liquid off of his wrist. "Whatcha sneakin' up on a bloke like that for? It's a sin to waste liquor."
Willow stood there a moment, twisting her hands together in front of her. "I'm sorry," she said softly.
Spike looked more closely at her, noticing the dark circles under her eyes, the dullness of her normally vibrant red hair. He hadn't seen her since that night—that night she'd almost killed Dawn and herself. He shuddered at the thought of the Little Bit gone.
"You okay, pet?" he asked, concerned. He'd always liked the witch. Even back when he'd been trying to kill her, he'd had a soft spot in his heart for her. She was normally nicer to him than the others, more tolerant. But with the magic getting out of hand, and Tara leaving…she couldn't be doing well.
"Yeah. I'm fine. Everybody just…no. They should. They have every right to be mad. I'm scum. No, I'm lower than scum. I'm scum spawn!" Her eyes welled with tears, but she refused to let them fall. She figured she'd cried enough. She didn't deserve the release it brought.
Spike's eyes widened at her display. This was the old Willow shining through; the Willow he'd met when he first came to Sunnydale. Shy and unsure, not the powerful witch he'd seen blossom over the past two years. This was the Willow whose attempt at a spell to bring back her boyfriend resulted in his brief engagement with Buffy. The confidence she'd found in her powers and her love affair with that other witch, Tara, seemed gone.
"Willow."
She calmed down when he used her real name. She looked into his eyes. "I'm sorry, Spike," she said, dropping her gaze back down to her clasped hands. "For that night. For…Dawn. I'm so sorry." This time the tears wouldn't be quelled. She sobbed and covered her face with her hands.
"Now, now," Spike said, stepping forward to awkwardly put his arm around her shoulders. This whole consoling thing was still very much new to him. He stood there for a moment, just holding her lightly to his side while she cried. Then, "Shh. Stop crying. It's not all that bad."
Her sobs quieted as she stepped out of the half-embrace and glanced up at him, confused. "Not that bad? Don't you realize what I've done?"
"Yeah, sure. You messed up. Big time. But it could be a hell of a lot worse." He looked at her seriously. "Little Bit could be dead. You could be dead. That's worse, luv." He sighed, frustrated. "When did I get to be the bleedin' heart, huh? You tell anyone, I'll deny this ever happened, got it?" He tried scowling fiercely at her and failed.
She nodded, a small smile appearing at one corner of her mouth.
He studied her a moment, nodded once. "What you did, yeah, pretty bad. But you can still fix it. Them in there," he pointed at the Magic Box, "they love you. Every one of 'em. You work, they'll forgive, don't you doubt it. If Buffy can forgive you, so can the rest of the lot." He paused a moment, thinking. "Nibblet, now. She'll take a bit longer. Scared her right good, you did. But she'll come 'round."
Willow looked at him, seeing him in a different light. He really had changed. His words made sense—they gave her hope. For that, she'd be forever grateful. She hopped forward quickly and hugged him, before he could back away. She felt him return it, however briefly, and smiled a little.
"Thank you, Spike." She stepped back and made a move toward the door of the shop. She paused and turned around, standing a bit taller, a big more confident. "I'm sorry we didn't tell you about Buffy. When we…brought her back. You were one of us and it wasn't fair." With that, she turned and entered the shop, closing the door softly behind her.
Spike stood there, looking at the closed door, a grin working at the corners of his mouth. "Bloody hell," he muttered, running a hand through his bleached locks. He took a swig off of his almost forgotten bottle of whiskey and turned away. "Nancy-boy. Nothing but a nancy-boy, that's what you are," he said sardonically to himself. "Used to be the Big Bad. When'd I become a ponce like Angelus?"
He headed toward his cemetery. "Time to whoop a little demon ass," he said out loud. "Real manly, killing and maiming. Just like the good ol' days. Only, used to be humans were the victims, not demons. But, hey. We adjust."
He took another swig from his bottle. The plan had been to pick up the bottle of whiskey, return to his crypt, and drink himself into sweet oblivion. Maybe then he'd stop dreaming about Buffy. That plan had been seriously averted by Willow's appearance. He felt almost…good, having helped her out some, put things a big more in perspective for her. He really didn't feel like going home to drink and then just wake up to a bloody hangover tomorrow. He felt like killing something. And even if he couldn't kill humans, he could beat some demons to a bloody pulp.
▪ ▪ ▪
The sound of a shrill version of The Simpsons theme song broke the silence of the cemetery. Angel fumbled quickly in his pocket, wincing at Cordelia's latest surprise for his cell phone. He pushed the button and put the tiny thing to his ear, feeling stupid as usual. He hated cell phones.
"Conner needs milk," Cordelia said, before he could utter a greeting.
His eyes scanned the graveyard to see if the loud ringing had stirred up anything. No sign of movement at all. He turned his attention back to the phone, but never fully away from his surroundings. Years of experience had taught him to be aware at all times. If you weren't, you could end up dead.
"It's gone already?" he asked in a whisper.
"I think he gets his appetite from you bloodsuckers, right? What's that word? Voracious?"
"That an SAT word? Or a Wesley word?" He heard a sound off to his left and spun around, almost dropping the phone. Just a squirrel.
"Actually, Giles. I think. Could be Wesley. Too easy for SATs." Her voice became muffled for a second. "Who's that? Is that Conner? Is that the handsome boy?"
He smiled at the image of Cordelia making baby faces at his son. He turned serious quickly as he heard some approaching from far off. "Cord, gotta go. Someone's coming. I'll call back," he said, barely audible. He ended the call and slipped the phone back into his trench coat, ducking behind a crumbling mausoleum.
He heard cheery whistling as the figure entered the cemetery. The whistling stopped as the figure took a drink from the bottle in one hand. When the figure resumed, Angel recognized the song—the Ramones. Angel narrowed his eyes as he took in the shock of bleached hair in the darkness. Good. He could get this over with early and get home to Cordy and Conner.
▪ ▪ ▪
PART THREE
Spike put the lid back on the bottle and slid it into his coat pocket. He reached into his other pocket and got out a pack of cigarettes and his silver lighter. He lit up, inhaling smoke into dead lungs. He did it out of habit, rather than anything else. It felt good to hold that cigarette and go through the motions of smoking. Reassuring, almost.
His eyes scanned the dark graveyard as he smoked. He really hoped there'd be something out there he could thrash. It'd be such a waste if there weren't, with the mood he was in. He felt…alive. Being undead, that was a hard feeling to get. And when he did, killing something normally felt that much better, reaffirming that he was alive and they…Well, they weren't anymore.
There wasn't much of a moon tonight, so the shadows were thick. He didn't see any movement. He turned and walked deeper into the cemetery, flicking his cigarette away. Trouble didn't normally lurk near the gates. He'd wander further in where there would more likely be some action. One could hope, at least.
He thought he heard the sound of a carefully placed footstep somewhere behind him. Someone trying real hard not to be heard. He kept his cool and kept walking, resuming his humming. Spike was pretty well known around here. He was curious as to who would try to sneak up on him. He turned at the corner of a mausoleum and ducked inside the entrance.
His would-be attacker stopped walking just beyond the door. Must be a smart one, Spike thought to himself. He couldn't see who—or what—it was. Then Spike could here the sound of the assailant walking—in the other direction! Oh, no. That wasn't part of the plan. He jumped out of his hiding spot, ready to pounce. There was nobody in sight.
"What the…" he muttered. "What's a bloke gotta do to get some action 'round here?" He threw up his hands, defeated, and continued on his way. A dark figure stepped out from behind the mausoleum to block his path. Must have snuck around, Spike thought vaguely. Then he recognized the figure.
"Peaches!" he cried with his usual cocky grin. "How's the dick business treating you?" He reached into his pocket for another cigarette, watching Angel the entire time. What was he doing here? He lit up and waited for his grandsire to say something. When he didn't speak, Spike took a single drag off his cigarette and flicked it away. He made a move to walk past Angel. "Well, nice to see you, mate. But, you know how it is. Things to do…"
Angel didn't move out of his way. He had his hands in his pockets and his stance appeared relaxed. But Spike could sense him coiled, ready to spring. There was the hint of malevolence in the air. He raised his eyebrows at Angel, suspicious. What was going on? "Angelus? Did you—did Buffy—when…" he trailed off. No. Buffy wouldn't have. Not with the risk. Not with what they'd shared…
"Oh, bugger. You shagged?" He didn't want to believe it of her, but what would have stopped her? With her being so different lately, who's to say she wouldn't have done the nasty with Angel? She could have done it just to spite him.
Angelus' human mask dropped as he surged forward and punched Spike in the face. Spike, taken by surprise, fell back, rubbing his jaw. He recovered quickly, letting his vampire features take over as well and kicked Angelus in the leg with the toe of his boot. Angelus fell to one side as his knee buckled. He growled angrily and leaped at Spike, tackling him. They fell on top of a tombstone, both getting cut in the process. Each tried to gain control of the battle as they wrestled, hitting each other when they could. Spike rolled on top and straddled Angelus, punching him hard in the face. Angelus shoved Spike away and leapt to his feet. Spike quickly followed and kicked Angelus in his chest, knocking him back down. He tried to jump on top of his grandsire, but Angelus rolled away a few yards and got to his feet, causing Spike to sprawl gracelessly in the dirt. Angelus withdrew a stake and moved to attack again when he was kicked from behind, forcing him back to the ground.
"What the hell is going on?"
Spike got to his feet, gingerly touching his split lip. "Slayer," he said, nodding his head at her.
Buffy ignored him. She placed her hands on her hips, her expression angry. "Angel? What are you doing here?"
Angel rolled over and sat up, not bothering to stand. "Buffy. Cordelia—"
"He's evil," Spike said calmly, lighting another cigarette. Sometime during the fight, his whiskey had fallen out of his pocket. He didn't see it in the near vicinity, but he thanked his lucky stars the bottle hadn't broken and spilled all over his duster.
"No, I'm not!" Angel said, glaring at him. "You're evil."
"Well, yeah," he agreed. He saw the stake on the ground next to Angel. "You were gonna stake me!" he accused, shocked.
"Stop it, both of you." Buffy ran both hands through her hair, frustrated. What was going on here? Why was Angel back? And why was he trying to kill Spike? Spike had said… "Angel? Are you…grrr?" she asked, baring her teeth in a poor imitation of vamp face. She touched the stake in the back of her jeans, making sure it was still there.
"No! I haven't—no." He shook his head, his expression slightly hurt.
"You two didn't shag, then?" Spike said, trying to hide his happiness.
"What?" Buffy said, surprised. "No! Of course not!" She glared at Spike. "What gave you that idea?"
"Just…he had these evil vibes comin' off him. Put two an' two together." Before he realized what was happening, he was flat on his back again. He stared up at a very angry Slayer and held up his hands, surrendering. "Right, then. 'Course you wouldn't. Once you've had the best—"
She kicked him in the side before he could finish. "Forget this. You two kill each other. I don't care." With that, she turned and walked away, muttering and shaking her head as she went.
"What the—" Angel still sat on the ground, watching Buffy walk away. He shook his head in confusion. "What just happened here?" he asked Spike.
"Peaches," Spike said, getting slowly to his feet. "You attacked me, remember? Or has too much hair gel messed with your head?" He started looking around at the ground around them. "D'you see a bottle anywhere? Lost my bloody whiskey."
"William."
Spike stopped his search around the broken tombstone to stare at Angel. That name always got his attention. He didn't know whether to attack Angel for daring to use it or stand up straight and docile like a good little soldier for his grandsire. "Listen, wanker. Not even you can call me that anymore."
Angel stood up. "Got your attention, didn't it?"
"Right you are." He looked at his grandsire curiously, waiting to see what was so bloody important he had to dredge up the past.
"Why did Buffy protect you?"
Spike snorted, amused. "Protect? Not likely. More like saving me for herself, probably."
Angel shook his head, looking back to where Buffy had walked out of sight. He had a thoughtful expression on his face. "No. That wasn't it."
"You're gonna have to ask her, mate." Spike triumphantly picked up his newly found bottle, uncapped it, and took a long drink. "Want some?" he offered, holding it out to Angel.
Angel accepted. "Thanks." He took a drink and handed the bottle back.
"Can I go now? Or do you wanna fight s'more?" Spike asked, not sure which answer he'd prefer. It was always fun fighting Angel.
"Go ahead."
Spike turned to walk toward his crypt.
"But, Spike?"
"Yeah?" he said over his shoulder.
"We're not finished here."
"Didn't expect we were."
Angel turned to walk in the other direction. He had no idea what had happened with Buffy back there but tomorrow was soon enough to find out. He still needed to pick up some milk.
TO BE CONTINUED