Chapter 12:
"This will be our final session, William."
(laughs) "What, not 'cured', am I?"
"Far from it. But I can't be your doctor anymore."
(pause)
"Why not?"
"I―just can't."
(scoffs) "Cheers for clearing that up."
"I'm sorry, William."
(pause)
"Do I scare you?"
"Why would you wait until this moment to ask me that question? You never have before."
"I never reckoned I'd have to ask, before."
"But you do now?"
"Well, you're pissin' off, aren't ya? Fear's the usual reason for a thing like that."
"I don't mean for you to feel abandoned."
"Such sentiments'd work better if you weren't abandoning me."
"William, please…"
"Why do you keep calling me that! You know I don't like it!"
(pause)
"Elizabeth?"
"Yes?"
"Do I scare you?"
"No."
(pause)
"Liar."
(pause)
"I've chosen a qualified replacement."
"I don't want to replace you."
"I'm not sure I'm doing you any good. We're not progressing as I'd hoped. Someone else, someone…neutral, might be able to help you…more than I ever could."
"Don't do this. Don't turn your back jus' when I've shown you all the dirty little things I've done."
"Not all of them. Not Cecily."
"I don't want to talk about her."
(sighs) "Of course you don't. But I thought you might make an exception for today, considering it's your last chance to―"
"To what? Repent? Lay my bleedin' burden down? No thank you, Doctor."
"We'll never get anywhere if you continue to hide her from me."
"She betrayed me."
"That's what you always say."
"And that's all I'll ever say."
"Why?"
"I don't kill-and-tell."
"And the other five? What of them?"
"The other five weren't 'kills'. They were sacrifices."
(pause)
"You're a very sick man, William."
"So they keep fucking telling me."
Kansas
There was more, but he didn't want to hear it.
The memory of their last meeting had always inspired ill feelings in him; he didn't need the play-by-play recording as a reminder. He'd said some things he shouldn't have, planted images in her brain that had served to reinforce her 'very sick man' statement. He was horrible when he was angry, and at the time he'd been furious.
Elizabeth was his sin-eater. He'd needed that, needed her, hated her for fleeing him. And now, driving too fast along a semi-deserted pitch-black highway, he hated her for making him hate her, because such a strong emotion only embedded her deeply and forever beneath his skin. And more than that, he loathed himself for becoming so dependent on she who should have remained his enemy. Not since Cecily had someone possessed even a modicum of the power over him―or abused that power―in the way the doctor had.
He hated her for that, as well.
Spike blew smoke out of the lowered window. Watching the cherry of his cigarette glow red, he cut a quick glance toward Elizabeth asleep in the passenger seat. After several days on the road (in which he'd finally convinced her he could make life as comfortable as possible if she'd stop resisting him) she no longer needed to be bound to be transported. Despite this, she slept curled in the fetal position, protecting herself even in slumber.
Smart girl. She was right not to let her guard down in his presence. He felt an unbidden twinge of regret at the thought of what lay in wait for them, what he would have to do.
"Elizabeth," he spoke to her inert form, "I wish it hadn't come to this. But we choose our paths, and you chose yours. We all have our prices to pay."
He halted here, as if he expected a response, and when, predictably, she remained silent and still, he continued with, "I admit, I overlooked a few…details, at first. This is where you'd say 'errors are what prove you're human, Spike' and I'd disagree, so 's a rather fortunate thing you're not exactly payin' attention, innit? What I mean about 'details' is I didn't count on your being married. I don' need your forgiveness, but I wanted you to know that hurting you so early on was not my intention…though hurting him was.
"I did and I do need him outta the way, luv. What with the cops gunning for me, your Angel was a complication I couldn't tolerate. For now, he'll live, not that it matters. To me, that is. Don't go getting offended."
An incessant buzzing was the only reply. Searching for the source of the noise, he opened the glove compartment to find Elizabeth's mobile phone vibrating where he'd last discarded it. Accepting the call, he brought the cellular to his ear.
"Hello?" a familiar British voice inquired.
"'Ello, Warden." he began, amused at the turn of events, "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"William," came Giles' stony greeting, "What have you done with Dr. Summers? Where is she?"
"Guess."
"This is not the time for games, you prat!"
Spike clucked his tongue reprovingly, "Oi! Rupes, you're no fun. I understand your concern, but 's hardly advisable to insult the bloke who has the advantage. And the hostage. Something you of all people should realize, running an institution such as you do."
"Where is she?"
"You're persistent, I'll give you that," he said, chuckling, enjoying himself quite a lot, "She's right next to me."
"May I speak to her?"
"Oh, sure, I'll put her right on," he mocked with a sneer, "How thick do you think I am? And remember, no insults."
"It's imperative that I speak with her."
"Sorry, Warden, she's off limits. 'Sides," he added, glancing at Elizabeth once more, "she looks so peaceful; I'd rather not disturb her."
"What have you done, William?" asked the director of Sunnydale, his voice rising an octave and bordering on frantic, "Have you harmed her?"
"A bit pessimistic, are we? No worries, she's only sleeping," he assured, listening to the audible sigh of relief coming from Rupert's end, "I'd be more than happy to take a message."
A snort, closely followed by indistinguishable commotion, and a different voice was bombarding him from California,
"What have you done with my wife!"
"Glad to hear you're awake, mate. Was afraid I'd gone too far with you."
"If you touch her, I swear I'll―"
"Be careful, Liam," Spike interrupted, suddenly and gravely serious. Dropping his voice low, he warned, "Wouldn't want to say anything you might regret. As for Elizabeth, she's safe as houses."
"Yeah? For how long?" Daly shot back, his rage easily traveling the distance Spike had put between them.
"Long enough, if you cooperate."
"Cooperate?" he snarled his distaste for the term.
"If you have trouble with the idea, think of it as a life-or-death situation. Which it is. Her life, her death. What choice do you really have?"
"Not much of one," he caved, "So what do you want?"
"Heal up, boy. An' don't do anything rash. It'll be your wife who suffers should you try heroics."
"She's never done anything to you! Why her!"
There was a kind of desperation and defeat in his words, which seemed a last-ditch effort at saving something he'd already lost. Spike couldn't bring himself to feel sorry for the poor sod. But he could be honest with him.
"We all have our prices to pay."
He ended the call before Liam could protest, and turned his attention to Elizabeth, who had begun to stir toward the end of the conversation. Rubbing the exhaustion from her eyes, she stared suspiciously at her phone in his hand.
"Who called?" she asked warily.
Spike tossed the phone out of the DeSoto's window, watching as it shattered into fragments on the asphalt before he said,
"The Husband."
"Fuck!"
Angel did not bother apologizing for the expletive, just gazed dumbfounded at the phone, its dial tone an insult as it droned on in the silence of his living room.
Despite having recovered from his comatose state days ago, he was still adjusting to the fact that his wife, his Buffy, had been abducted by the same chemically imbalanced mental patient who had recently beaten him to the point of unconsciousness, and was now anywhere between here and who-the-hell-knows, all on the whim of a serial killer.
"Fuck." he repeated.
"My feelings exactly," Rupert Giles replied sympathetically, sitting beside Angel and handing him a glass. When the other man gave him a skeptical look, he added, "It may not help, but it can't hurt."
Agreeing with a soft grunt, Angel swallowed a generous amount of the liquor.
"I'm assuming he didn't tell you anything useful."
"Depends on what you describe as 'useful'," he sighed, glowering into his whiskey, "Basically? He'll kill her if we interfere."
Out of habit, he ran a hand over his face, wincing as he came in contact with the cuts, bruises, and swelling which were souvenirs of his confrontation with William the Bloody.
"What am I going to do?" he muttered, sinking into the sofa cushions, "Should I call back?"
Giles deterred him, "That would be pointless, I think. We were lucky he picked up the first time; we shouldn't push that luck."
"I just wish…I wish I knew where she was."
"Topeka."
Detective Finn strode in unannounced; Angel looked past him out the open door at his back. The protection detail vehicle that had been assigned to guard his home stood parked at the curbside as it had for days: a sign for all to know that something tragic had occurred at the Daly residence.
"You traced it?" he asked, his attention on the surveillance van.
"The Department put a tap on your phone. Sorry if you're offended."
"Not if it helped," he replied quickly, "Kansas?"
"I seriously doubt they'll be there very much longer, but yeah. Kansas."
"Well, it's a place to start," Giles put in with forced cheer, trying too hard to raise Liam's spirits.
Finn, on the other hand, had a strangely pleasant look brightening his features, "Oh, it's more than a place to start," he said with a self-satisfied grin, "I just realized where he's headed."
"Stop the car."
She said it with such conviction, as if she honestly believed he'd obey, that Spike almost wanted to. Almost.
"What's wrong, Elizabeth? Didn't you sleep well?"
"Please, just―"
"Afraid I can't do that, luv. Got a schedule to keep."
"Stop the fucking car, Spike!" she demanded in a muffled whisper, her head resting on arms folded across her knees, "I'm gonna be sick."
Begrudgingly, Spike pulled onto the shoulder, killing the engine. They sat quietly for a few moments, listening to the sound of the DeSoto settling. Buffy swallowed hard and repeatedly. When at last she raised her head to face him, she could feel the tears drying on her cheeks. She could feel his hostility.
"What're you leakin' for?"
"Excuse me?" she asked, doubting that even this man could be so cold.
"Well, are you glad he's awake?"
"Or?" she returned, as if there was no other option.
"Or disappointed."
She'd predicted this statement, and yet was not as appalled as she'd thought she'd be. It was audacious of him, no doubt, but still she found herself considering the question. Why was she so upset? Why was her stomach in knots at the news of Angel's recovery? Whatever the reason, it didn't feel like joy.
Buffy had the dreadful feeling that with Angel back in the game, everything would be…
"Ruined." she let the nail in the coffin slip past her mouth, but may have overlooked the fact that she'd spoken aloud if not for Spike's sinister and all-too-penetrating smirk.
"What's that, Doctor?"
She looked to him helplessly.
"Oh, it's alright. You don't have to say anything," he assured her, sounding amused, "You know, for a psychiatrist, you're bloody transparent."
"Am I?" she replied, not slighted, but curious.
"I saw straight through you."
"And what did you see?"
"The first time I laid eyes on you? Nothing but discontent."
"Really?" was her counter, and in a show of cynicism, she positioned herself in his direct line of vision, widening her eyes, "How 'bout now?"
The grip she was coming to know intimately secured itself around her upper arm; he dragged her to him, leaving only air between them and boring into her with fierce ceruleans. His one word kissed her lips,
"Potential."
She couldn't be sure, as she never quite was with Spike, but thought maybe she understood his meaning. He'd been crawling much too far beneath her surface, making her question what she once knew, loved. Not only was she now uncertain of him, she was uncertain of everything. Though somehow, even through the confusion, she was pretty damn sure he wanted it that way.