Free Will
⸹
San Francisco
February 2003
⸹
"Happy Valentines' Day, Mrs. Summers."
Buffy smiled up at her husband. "Happy Valentine's Day, Mr. Summers." They were on the balcony of a hotel room in San Francisco, and the day was almost done. Spike had set up their trip with his usual attention to detail, so everything about the celebration had been smooth and romantic. It was cold, but the view of city lights over the bay was gorgeous, as was the room itself.
Spike spun her for a half turn, then pulled her close. They had been out dancing and just got in. Buffy was wearing the rubies he'd gotten for her, set off by the strapless burgundy velvet dress she wore. He ran his hands over the decadent fabric, outlining the curves of her breasts, waist, and hips. "You are so lovely."
"You look very fine yourself in that tuxedo," Buffy purred, lifting an arm to place a lingering caress along the line of his neck. He breathed in her scent and fell silent, but she felt his arms tighten around her.
"Is this real, love?"
Of course it is. Buffy turned in his embrace, holding him tightly. It had been months – years, now, she realized – since she'd felt such an ache of neediness from him. "It's real," she added aloud. "You're my Spike, my very own, and I'm your Buffy. And I love you."
He stared down into her eyes for a long moment, his own human and dark. "You're too fine for me to ever dare to hold," he said gruffly, "but I did, and I'm never going to let you go."
"Just try," she said, narrowing her eyes in mock warning. "I can hunt you down and tie you to my bed."
Spike breathed in her scent again in an entirely different way. "Sounds like a challenge."
"I love it when you get that growl in your voice." Then she used her lips to stifle any possible response.
Three hours and one polite phone call from the front desk to relay a noise complaint later, Buffy slid her arms around Spike's narrow waist and laid her head on his chest with a contented sigh. "Babe? Earlier… why did you ask if this was real?"
"Can't quite believe it sometimes." He lifted a shoulder in a shrug. "Being loved the way you love me. Knowing you see me for what I am, good and bad, and still love me. I know it seems like everything – it is everything – but I'm still dragging the memories of nearly twelve decades of not being loved. Or having a… strangled kind of love, like a dandelion struggling to grow in a crack of concrete on a city sidewalk, and now I have whole gardens of love blooming all around me."
A smile tugged her lips. That sounded like a poem in the making to her. "I love you best. You're wonderful, William. You are. You have to know that."
"You're wonderful," he countered.
"I'm just me, with a side of Slayer."
He found her wrist and pressed a kiss just beneath her palm. "I love all your sides."
Can I tell you something?
Of course, kitten.
When you went to Africa and earned your soul… It made me feel better. Buffy felt the jerk of emotion inside his still body and quickly plowed on. Not because it made you more human or anything like that. It made me feel like a better person.
He had a quizzical expression on his face when she peeked up at him. Not sure what you mean, love.
When Angelus happened… I felt, I don't know, toxic. Virulent. I'm supposed to be a white power, Champion of the Powers, and I'd just slayed a soul, right? She lifted hand to forestall his objection. I know it doesn't make sense, but that's how I felt. I cost someone their soul. Buffy looked up at him once more, wanting him to see her eyes. I know you got the soul for me. That I could inspire good in you… Maybe I wasn't an agent of evil, after all.
Oh, love. Spike was stunned; he knew how much Angelus had hurt her, but he didn't know this particular wound. She had doubted her very identity.
I mean, happiness or not, a real agent of good would have bound the soul, not allowed the curse to break, and kept evil from coming into the world, right? But then, even though you really didn't need it, you got your soul. On purpose. For me. It was like being recertified as one of the good guys.
I needed it. I hurt you.
You never hurt me.
I hurt your feelings. I went way beyond the boundaries of a new, er, boyfriend.
She smirked at him. Oh, you were my booooyfriend?
Oh, hush.
You really are a wonderful man, you know. The most loving man I've ever met.
"Buffy Summers," he said matter-of-factly, "is the most extraordinary woman in the universe, and her Slayer eclipses all the rest."
"You might be a little biased."
Spike harrumphed in his best Willingham impersonation. "You're not wrong. At least the Council is beginning to take care of you lot." He was a little desperate to change the topic.
"I did enjoy that direct deposit from the Council of Slayers," she said smugly. "Plus, dental insurance!"
This time his snort was genuine. "Wankers still don't know how to take care of their only bloody resource."
"Oh?" She looked up the length of his muscled torso with a little grin. "You could do better?"
"They have no idea how magnificent and unique you are. Let's say I ruled a kingdom back in the days of the pharaohs. I got lucky enough to have a Slayer as my champion, half of my palace would be put aside for your pleasure. You'd walk on flower petals over marble floors, wearing admittedly skimpy robes of silk. A hundred servants would be at your disposal to feed you the most delicate and tempting morsels, to bathe and clothe you, to massage your muscles. I'd send out riders to find the finest musicians and entertainers to delight you during the nights. During the day, all my armies would be at your disposal so you could train however you like, with stake or spear or bow. I'd tame tigers to stalk at your side and break proud stallions for you to ride. Whenever you left the palace, all the citizens would bow and throw flowers out of respect and love. And when you went out to meet my enemies, they would either fall prostrate before you, offering their necks in despair, or they would flee at the mention of your name."
"Wow." She blinked at him. "You've thought about this way too much."
"Active fantasy life is a healthy thing."
Buffy looked down to hide her smile. "And where would you be, my king, when I went out to face your enemies?"
"Sitting in the shade of a litter, watching you and wanking off. Probably." When she finished laughing, he rolled over and moved down the bed so they were nose to nose. "So, you see, Watchers or Slayers, the Council is still slacking as far as I'm concerned."
Buffy trailed her fingers blindly over the sheets until she found one of the orchid blossoms that had been strewn across the smooth linens, another of his romantic gestures. "Good King William," she murmured, stroking the soft, fragrant flower across his brow. "I hope I make you feel half as cherished as you do me."
His arms tightened around her, and he closed his eyes. "You make me feel whole, love, and happy. You make this old, cold vamp feel warm. You make me feel loved."
"That's because I love you best." She watched gold flicker in his eyes, and then Buffy didn't have the chance to say anything else as his mouth found hers again.
⸹
Los Angeles
⸹
"What, exactly, would you like us to do for you, Ms. Raiden?" Wesley asked. They were in a small conference room at the Hyperion. "We've been here for a quarter of an hour, and you persist in speaking in vague terms."
"Gwen." She looked around the table, at the silent CEO of Angel Investigations, the equally silent dark-haired beauty sitting sullenly next to him, the beefcake with intensely blue eyes, the tall black man who kept sending her appreciative looks, and the Texan physicist that she'd been speaking with in the main. "Just call me Gwen." She sent another look to Fred, who didn't seem like she was about to step into the breach. "Okay," she sighed. "Here's my story."
"I'm electric girl, okay? Since I was little, I've had electrical current running on the outside of my body. If I touch you, you're going to be electrocuted. You noticed that I don't shake hands? I don't kiss. I don't hold babies. I don't pat someone on the back when they need a friend. I don't get to touch anyone." She looked down. "I have accidentally killed people, too, so I've got that to deal with as well."
"And, of course, you're a successful and accomplished thief, able to get around the most sophisticated electronic security systems." Wesley opened a file on the table in front of him, revealing a copy of her last mug shot. It was an old picture; she was very skilled at what she did.
Gwen made a mouth. "Okay. You know. That's good, I guess." She met Wesley's eyes frankly, no longer trying to hide anything. "Just because my… abilities don't allow me to have a normal, nine-to-five job doesn't mean I'm a monster. I may be a thief, but I'd like to be," the next words sounded wobbly, "a human." Her gaze dropped to the table. "And I think I might finally have found a way to make that happen, but I can't pull this off alone."
Wesley took the opportunity to glance around at his colleagues. All of them gave a nod, except for Gunn, who nodded emphatically. He sighed. "Tell us how we fit into your plan."
Gwen launched into an explanation of a prototype device called a localized ionic sensory activator, LISA, and explained how it was meant to help special ops people regulate their heartrates, temperatures, and other biometric markers. The most important thing to her, of course, was the electrical component, but she was also giddy with the fact that it was palm-sized, something she could wear unobtrusively. The prototype was made by Takeshi Morimoto, a titan of industry familiar to nearly everyone in the room. Gwen went on to tell them that Morimoto was not the nice guy his PR people worked so hard to present, but a smuggler and money launderer.
"So you want us to help you steal this prototype? Because he's a bad guy, it's okay to steal from him. Is that the bottom line?" Wesley asked.
Something else had occurred to Faith. "You've never been with a guy, have you?"
Gwen glared at her. "I've never even held hands."
"Well, shit, Wes," Faith said, pivoting in the office chair, "of course we're going to help her." Fred started to giggle, then covered her mouth.
"What kind of help do you need?" Angel sat up taller as he spoke for the first time.
"It's a two person job," she explained, then added, "plus a wheelman."
"Are you taking the plans for LISA as well?"
Gwen looked down. "That's how I found out it existed. Corporate espionage. Another defense contractor wanted me to steal it, device and blueprints."
"And you plan to stiff them? Or only give them part of the package?" Wesley shook his head. "That's a good way to get killed."
"I refused the job."
"And went into competition with them."
"I'm not the one wanting to make stealth soldiers," she pointed out.
"We'll help." Angel's tone was an end to the discussion.
Wesley sighed and closed the folder. "We get the plans and destroy them. Twenty thousand retainer. Ten thousand every day we're on the case. Option to bill you for things like… drained car batteries."
"Wes," Gunn said reprovingly.
"We help the helpless," he shot back. "She isn't and will be billed accordingly."
"Your fee sounds reasonable."
"If the device works," Gunn said, speaking to her for the first time, "what then?"
"Then…" Gwen shook her head at the dizzying thought. "Then I join the real world."
"And when it stops working?" When the thief turned wide eyes on him, Gunn's voice gentled. "Ain't gonna be a repair shop that can fix that."
Gwen gritted her teeth. "If I can get one normal year out of it, that's more than I ever expected. It's worth having, even for a moment."
"Angel, Wes," Gunn's eyes went to Fred and Groo as well, "I have a counter-proposal for Ms. Raiden."
⸹
"That went smoother than I expected," Gwen said, shutting the car door behind her. She and Gunn had posed as servers at a party given by Morimoto. The LISA plans and prototype were tucked into the pouch at her waistband.
"Where to, sir?" Groo shot a grin at Gunn through the rear-view mirror, his voice a passable British accent.
"Home, Jeeves." Gunn was smiling, too. A little adrenalin, a chance to pull one over on snooty rich people, and a gorgeous girl at his side… Yeah, he was enjoying the hell out of this case.
"Do you really think your friend can help?" Gwen asked suddenly. She had sought a magical answer for years without success.
"Red?" Gunn drawled. "Oh, yeah. There's more to that witch than crystals and a circle of salt poured on the ground."
An hour and one nerve-wracking portal later, Gwen and Gunn stood in front of a normal door in a normal apartment building in Sunnydale. She watched over her shoulder as it disappeared. "You get used to stuff like that?"
"Gwen, a couple hours up the coast ain't nearly as bad as taking one step from Cali daylight into British darkness."
"Wow."
"Willow's coven did those portals. We got this," he said reassuringly, then turned to knock on the door.
"Hey!" Willow opened the door, her eyes already lit up with excitement over this new puzzle to work on. She stood back so they could walk in; at this point in her life, she didn't think it was possible for her to speak the words 'come in.'
Gunn leaned down to give her a hug. "How are the wedding plans?" he asked.
"Oh, just look around," she said, gesturing at the neat apartment. "We're covered with ribbons, and we have all these herbs bundled and drying in the kitchen. Everything is coming into bloom now that spring is almost here, and we're trying to get everything fresh so we can hang swags instead of flowers. Well, some herbs have little flowers, because the leaves and flowers and sometimes even the roots all have different magical properties…" Willow stopped and looked at Gwen, who seemed somewhat overwhelmed. "Oh, I'm sorry! You must be Gwen. I'm Willow." She reached for the other woman.
Gwen took a step back across the threshold. "I don't shake hands."
Willow froze. "Oh, goddess. It's so easy to forget, isn't it?" She settled for a beam. "Come on into the kitchen and meet everyone else." She started walking, leading the way. "I didn't expect you to be so young."
"Everyone else?" Gwen hissed at Gunn. "I only agreed to meet her."
He lifted a shoulder. "You know how smart Fred is? Red is just as smart, and she's not the only genius in this town. Trust me, Gwen."
She stared up into his warm hazel eyes and realized that she did trust him. And she liked the way her name sounded on his lips. It didn't mean she wasn't a fraction of a second from bolting from the apartment, but she'd seen what the witch could do.
"Everyone, this is Gwen." Gunn turned his attention to the other occupants in the kitchen. "Oz, my man." They gave each other a manly clinch, then he turned his attention to the woman who stood by the stove. "Tara." He leaned down to give her a warm hug. "And I don't think I've met you."
Gwen tensed, staring at the last woman, who sat at the table. She looked a couple of years younger than the rest, but she had a pleasant smile on her face that seemed genuine.
"Hi. I'm April. I'm Anya's administrative assistant."
"Hey, April." Gunn sounded a little confused. "Uh, something smells good."
"Willow made cookies," Tara said, taking a plate of chocolate chip goodness from the counter behind her. "Forget the calories; you have to try them. Her cookies are legendary. And I've made… hot water." She lifted a kettle from the burner and settled it on a trivet. "All kinds of teas. This will probably be thirsty work."
"Can we see the device?" Oz asked.
"He's a student at MIT," Gunn explained.
Gwen slowly unfolded the plans. MIT sounded good. "What's your major?"
"Theoretical physics, but I dabble."
"I'm doing my doctorate in synthetic biology at Oxford," Willow murmured, her eyes already on the schematics Gunn had handed over.
Gwen took out the shielded pouch that held the LISA device and laid it on the table. "Impressive."
Tara came closer, but stopped short of Gwen's personal space. She held out a wooden tray with a selection of teas. "I'm graduating in May with a business degree from UC-Sunnydale. Living with these guys hardly damages my ego at all."
The dry humor startled Gwen into a real smile. She looked at the teas and chose peppermint. "Thank you."
While Oz examined the device, Willow put a distracted hand out to April. "Can you scan these?"
April stood up and leaned closer, her eyes running over the schematics in a methodical pattern. "Scanned."
"Call up that imaging program and upload? And open another window for coding?"
Gwen pulled a chair further away from the table where no one was likely to accidentally bump into her and watched Willow pull a large monitor on a wheeled cart closer. April calmly lifted her shirt and opened a panel on her stomach.
Gwen's chair scraped against the floor as she shoved away from the table and the… "Robot?"
"Oh!" Gunn turned interested eyes on April. "I heard about you, but I didn't make the connection."
April was calmly untucking a USB cable from her inner workings and plugging it into the laptop on the cart. "I had heard about you, too, but no one managed to convey how tall and good-looking you are in person."
Gunn gave her a pleased laugh, but Willow shook her head. "I can't keep the flirtation subroutines from running."
"I don't want you to. Anya says I make a very charming addition to the office, because I always compliment her choice of clothes."
"You could teach her charm," Oz suggested.
Tara gave him a nudge and a reproving look. "Anya has her own charm."
Gwen looked around at the strange group, then at Gunn, who was completely relaxed, a cookie in his hand. She slowly settled back down into the chair.
"Have you tried the device, Gwen?" Tara asked.
"I did," she confessed. "We turned it on, then sort of slowly put it against my skin. Angel volunteered to be the guinea pig." She had been terrified of how cavalier he'd been, just mildly reassuring her that he'd been electrocuted before and survived just fine.
"It worked like you wanted?" Willow asked. She was still looking at the schematics, a frown on her face. Right now, she looked nothing like the friendly, spacey woman who had given them a babbling welcome.
Gwen couldn't help the little breath that escaped her or the smile that lit her face. "It did."
"Too much going on here," Willow muttered. "April, could you strip away the temperature control unit from the plans?"
Although April didn't touch anything, the scanned image on the monitor suddenly became less cluttered. Wow, Gwen thought. Before she could think better of it, she asked Willow, "Did you build her?"
"No. Warren built me," April answered. "He's dead now. He considered giving me a defensive mechanism much like yours so I could electrocute people. You're welcome to ask questions of me directly, Gwen." She gave the thief another pretty smile.
That broke Willow's reverie. "Uh, Warren wasn't the nicest guy," she said, giving the sketchiest explanation she could. "He died in prison. April is cool, though. She's been our friend for a couple of years."
"So, she's a robot," Gwen said slowly. She looked at Gunn. "You're a demon hunter." She looked at the other three. "Are you all witches?"
"We are," Tara said, indicating herself and Willow.
"I'm a guitarist."
When Gwen blinked at the low-key answer, Gunn added, "He's with Dingoes Ate My Baby."
"Oh, hey, I've heard of you guys." Gwen felt, if anything, even stupider after blurting out those words. "I like that one song," she added lamely.
"Oz wrote it," Tara said proudly. Then she winced. "You did mean 'I Shouldn't Want You?'"
"Yeah, that's the one."
She sent Oz and Willow a private look. "It's our favorite, too."
Willow pointed at something on the screen. "Oz, does that look necessary for suppressing electrical output to you?"
Three hours, five cookies, and two cups of tea later, Gwen jumped a little when Willow thumped a box onto the table. Inside were crystals in all shapes, colors, and sizes. "I think that would do," she said anxiously, pulling one randomly from the jumble. "Tara?"
The other witch shook her head. Her fingers went into the box, but her eyes stayed on Willow. Whatever her fingers sought, she found, because she pulled a clear red stone from the box that looked like a slightly flattened cylinder. "This one."
"Ooh," Willow breathed. "And it will go with her coloring, too." She took her eyes from the stone and focused on Tara. "Can we do the etching now?"
"Do we have enough gold?"
"Michael took most of it to mold those rings for Spike, but this won't take much. Circuits are very delicate."
"Circuits?" Gwen asked. "I thought this was magic?"
"Willow is aces at combining both." Oz put a hand on her back. "I'll go get the gold."
By this point, Gwen had given up on figuring out the dynamics between the three. They were like longtime roommates, maybe with benefits. Gunn seemed to take all the affectionate touching for granted.
Gwen never had.
The spell that created the circuit by moving the gold into the crystal was pretty, with light glowing around the path the gold specks took between the partial gold ingot and the crystal. After the light dissipated, both witches let out a little sigh.
"That was very nice," Tara said, something of a purr in her voice. Oz leaned into her, an automatic gesture.
"It was." Willow put a hand on Oz's shoulder. Then she cleared her throat and turned to Gwen. "Our coven meets in three nights. We'll get this powered up and send it to Angel Investigations."
"Okaay…"
Gunn hid a smile. "What did you manage to do, guys?"
The blond witch gave a little laugh. "I think we need to speak 'normal people' for a minute."
Willow smacked playfully at her before turning to Gwen. "The crystal is simpler than LISA, but you won't have to worry about batteries. It will work as long as you live. After we get it magicked to charge from your electrical field, it will absorb and neutralize it, and that's all. It won't regulate your temperature or disperse your odor – not that you have odor or anything – but you also won't have to worry about batteries or components wearing down. Or, you know, submerging it."
Gwen realized her hands were shaking, so she put them against her thighs. "And all I have to do is wear it?"
Willow gave her a sympathetic look. "The crystal or the setting should be against your skin. One of our coven, Michael, is something of a jeweler. He'll fix up a setting for the crystal. Do you have a preference? Ring? Necklace?"
"Bracelet?" she asked after a moment's thought. "Maybe a cuff?"
"Oh, that will be pretty!"
"Are you done with LISA?" Gwen couldn't keep the edge from her voice.
"Do you want to put it back on?" Gunn asked, his voice kind.
She couldn't speak, just nodded and stared at the godsend. Gunn leaned over and took it up, the device looking small in his large hands, though it was bulky against her skin. He powered it up, then strapped it to her arm.
Gwen swallowed, then let out her breath. She put out a hand and hesitantly touched Gunn's bare forearm. He had nice arms, and he didn't flinch away.
Willow began folding the schematic, and Tara stepped forward. "I'll need one of your hairs now. We'll need it to bond the crystal to you."
The witches could also use it to hunt her down, Gwen knew. But she planned to keep to the deal. Angel Investigations would get the LISA device and plans; she would get a talisman and a life. Best thirty thousand dollars she'd ever spent.
Less than three minutes later, she and Gunn stepped through the portal and were standing in front of the Hyperion. She stopped him by placing a hand on his chest as he started inside. "What's your name? Your whole name, I mean."
"It really is Gunn. Charles Gunn."
"Okay. Would you come back to my hotel tonight?"
He looked down at her and for a long moment didn't reply, thinking of what Faith had deduced. "That's a pretty special invitation."
"You're a pretty special guy."
"You don't really know me."
"I've seen enough."
"Just for tonight?"
She looked up at him, his handsome face, the kindness in his eyes now joined by something wary. "No. I hope not."
He nodded gravely. "You know I have to report in."
"And take the blueprints to your boss." When he didn't respond, she said. "It's okay. I get it. I might abscond with the plans." She'd done nothing, really, to prove she was trustworthy.
"Do you want to come with me?"
"I'll wait here."
Gunn's long legs ate up the distance between the door and the office. Wesley was still there, and Fred was sitting on the edge of the desk, talking to him. Gunn handed over the papers. "Mission accomplished. Willow and Tara will bring the crystal in three days, when the coven meets."
"And Gwen?"
He looked at Wesley, then made himself look at Fred. His voice was soft, apologetic. "She's outside. She wants to," he lowered his voice, "take me to dinner."
"Oh." Fred pressed her lips together. Then she reached out and touched his face. "I can't blame her. I'd say she's been lonesome. You have a good time."
He covered her fingers with his palm just for a second. I'll always love you. I'm so sorry I've caused you pain. I'd still do anything to let you stay yourself. All of the words had been true; none of them were still completely true. He couldn't say them aloud, not in front of Wesley. Instead, Gunn just smiled and let her fingers fall away from his face. Fred had always been able to read him, anyway. She knew. "Night, guys."
Wesley watched Gunn leave and watched Fred watch him leave. He hoped the way the tall man hurried didn't hurt her too much. "Cordelia would have loved this," he said, wanting to break the poignant mood. "An actual paying client."
"Yes, she would have." Fred made herself laugh, a short laugh. "We'll text her and let her know."
⸹
Dawn frowned, her concentration breaking. She was in Max's nursery – not like he was using it, what with being in the UK – because it had good light. She held her paintbrush away from the canvas, listening. Yup, definitely a knock at the door.
She bounded down the stairs, wondering who was coming to see her midmorning on a Saturday. She checked through the window above the couch, then ran to open the door, grinning madly.
"Uncle Aubrey!" She pulled him into a big hug.
"Good Lord, girl, you've grown again," he complained, but he was smiling broadly as he returned her embrace. He stepped into the foyer. "Well, don't make me wait. I haven't seen your fabulous new room."
Dawn began to draw him along after her, heading for the basement door. "What are you doing here?"
"Well, it's Saturday evening for me. Thought I might come to Sunnydale and see you, perhaps drop by Fangs for a pint."
"They have excellent pints in London," she pointed out, turning on the light so he could see the steps.
"Yes, well, there's always someone who wants to accompany me and talk shop."
"I see why you would want to skip that." Dawn chattered at him cheerfully, showing him bookshelves built by Xander and the three-panel canvas room divider that she'd painted herself with colorful butterflies. He approved of everything, showing interest as if he didn't have decisions with global impact to make every day.
She gave him a few moments in the kitchen to search the refrigerator for ale or other drink (there was none) before dragging him up to see her paintings. Two flights of stairs in a row was nothing for her, but she didn't want him puffing for five minutes before he regained his breath.
"So, this is a part of your grade for art class?"
"They are my grade," she said fretfully. "We only have two tests and a final project. Ms. Ralston said she wanted the class to be preparation for college."
Willingham studied each canvas in turn. It was a series depicting doorways. One was an ornate front door, freestanding in a grove of oaks, with light edging the tiny gaps between door and frame. The next painting was realistic instead of surreal, showing the outside of a modest house with a soldier standing in front of the door, a duffel over her shoulder and one hand raised to knock.
The one she was currently working on was from the perspective of someone standing in a darkened house looking through a screen door into a bright summer's day. She had the suggestion of a porch with flowering bushes planted on either side of the steps, but the middle of the canvas was still plain.
"I can't figure out how to do the screen," she complained. "It works okay with pencil, but I can't paint a screen."
"Can you put paint on an actual screen and press it against the canvas?"
"That doesn't work, either. The paint smears when I take it off."
"You'll figure it out, my dear." He gave her a penetrating look. "You chose doors for your thesis."
She shrugged. "It seemed fitting." It was her turn to give him a pointed look. "Speaking of portals, why did you use the crystals to come to Sunnydale? I know it wasn't for whatever Fangs has on tap."
"No." Aubrey reached into his jacket and pulled out a couple of pages of notes. "This is a draft of the last thing I intend to do as head of the Council. I wondered if you could proofread it for me. Suggest any changes."
"You want me to help with Council stuff?"
"Of course I do. Surely you realize how much I learned from you. Your sister is wonderful, but she has other people to whom she can… vent. You've always been unguarded in your opinions."
"If by vent, you mean rant, I guess I have done some of that." She stopped looking at him and read the first line: "Be it resolved…."
⸹
Los Angeles
⸹
This was… displeasing.
Nineteen-fifty-three hadn't been planned. When he spotted Angel in a bus station in Seattle, it had only been chance. But seeing the big vampire scurrying along the edges of the place, trying to escape anyone's notice, had been so… gratifying, that he'd made it a habit to look him up every ten years.
Minneapolis in 1963 hadn't been as much fun. Angel had rented the basement of a boardinghouse and was living alone. He spent much of his time sitting in the dark, staring into space. The next couple of times, the vampire had been dwelling in sewers. The best of all had been 1993 in Philadelphia. He'd seen Angel chase down rats for food.
Now Angel was no longer filthy and dressed in rags. He was walking tall with his shoulders thrown back, living in a renovated hotel and keeping company with several people who seemed human and one obvious demon. Two pretty dark-haired girls, two tall men, one black, one white, a musclebound guy with long hair, an Indian woman of mature years, and a tow-headed kid, all of them with heartbeats.
Sometimes Angel smiled.
He couldn't get close to the building Angel was in, an old hotel, but it was easy enough to buy good binoculars and get access to other buildings nearby. Sometimes people came in off the streets to hire the group. They were supposed to help the helpless. A humorless smile curved his mouth. He knew Angel's brand of help.
In none of the decade-long check-ins had he thought of making contact. Just seeing that the vampire had no joy in his life was enough. Now, though, Angel had people, a place to live, and even good hygiene.
And sometimes, he smiled.
Sam Lawson figured there were ways to fix this break in the pattern.
⸹
Gerta. No, Greta. Her name was Greta. Connor had an official girlfriend for the first time. She was the smartest girl in school, Connor said. Angel didn't know if that was true, but he agreed with his son that she was pretty. He'd had several guilty memories of stalking similar-looking girls.
Greta was upstairs with Connor in his room now, the two of them working on a presentation for English class. Angel had given his son strict instructions on leaving the door open. Her father was picking her up in a few minutes. Connor had already met both her parents, so Angel was the one who needed to be on his best behavior.
He liked Greta, who had displayed almost no interest in him beyond polite greetings, but also found himself hating her. Would she break Connor's heart? Did she really like him, or did she just want to date a star athlete?
Would she take up all of Connor's time?
Angel sighed, frustrated with himself. The other parents in the Sheffield booster club laughingly warned him that Connor would disappear the second he got his driver's license, only popping in for money, food, and laundry. He even remembered that himself, that he'd spent as little time at home as possible once Liam discovered alcohol and women.
He spent a minute or so pondering all the ways he might have tortured Daniel Holtz in this new age of power tools and electricity. He had so little time left with Connor…
Angel jerked as the front door opened and Greta's father came in, a tall, thin man in a pastel polo with his daughter's chestnut hair. He pasted on a pleasant smile and answered all the questions about the hotel and his business. Connor escorted his girlfriend down the stairs right on time. She was carrying a posterboard and didn't have a single wrinkle in her skirt or hair out of place as she looked over her shoulder to smile at Connor. The two of them really had worked on the English project. Greta nodded to Angel and asked if she'd see him at Connor's baseball game tomorrow. He shook his head and told her he couldn't make it.
Later that night, without any real thought at all, Angel went into his bedroom and closed the door. He didn't bother to turn on the lights, just sat on the bed. Even without going to game face, he could clearly see his clenched hands resting on his knees.
Spike?
A moment later, Yeah, Peaches?
Come down to L.A. I want to go hunting for a Mohra demon.
There was a long silence. Then, with so much warmth, No need. Rupes saved the blood.
⸹
Spike sat on his motorbike for almost five minutes, staring across the empty parking lot and thinking of what Angel was asking. He wasn't sure how he felt, just that the emotions were rich, too heavy and slow to process. He would wait until Buffy came home from the Seventh Street building where she was touring the partially gutted beginnings of her new business. As he made his way, Spike spent a lot of time thinking about how to approach the news.
Buffy stilled as she came through the balcony door, giving him a wary look before joining him on the couch. Spike handed her a glass of white wine with club soda.
"Okay," she said, turning so that her knee touched her thigh, "what's the bad news?"
"Dunno that it's bad." Angel wants the Mohra blood.
Buffy blinked at him, the glass in her hand forgotten. Why? I mean, why now?
He said he wants to see Connor play baseball.
He wants to become human so he can go to high school baseball games?
Spike smiled faintly at her incredulous tone. They were on the back porch of the house on Revello for some reason, sitting side-by-side on the second step in the bloodlink. He's been working toward this for a while, I think. It isn't just baseball, being in sunshine. I think he's rethinking his whole approach to… to life, I guess.
Rethinking?
He leaned closer, so that their arms touched, shoulder to elbow. He set out on a very solitary quest when he left Sunnydale, yeah?
A selfish quest.
Spike shrugged, not denying that. Is it so wrong that he wants to make a mid-course direction, then? Where is this path of atonement taking him? Especially when so many people are going with him now. Almost by definition, he has to make a big statement, make a stand. Those are dangerous. I mean, it isn't as if we seek out battles with Turok-Han. We're on the Hellmouth; evil comes to us. He'll find the biggest monster in L.A. and pick a fight, he keeps this up. But giving up the idea of Shanshu and taking his fate into his own hands? You know I like the sound of that. And he told me Angelus is never going to repent, but he has enough of his own sins to worry about.
Without Connor, he wouldn't be thinking like this.
No.
Buffy considered all of this. Watching his son play baseball was more important to Angel than she had ever been. Angel had never sought a way to close the loophole in his curse for her, for them, but he was trying to find a way to be in Connor's life. Angel had refused humanity that, once upon a time, might have led him to her, but sought it for his son. Buffy felt petty for thinking that, but when she was sixteen, she'd been all about Angel. She also thought about Cordy's belief that Angel only knew how to love obsessively. Buffy remembered Spike once saying that, what Angel called love, he didn't understand.
I think, she managed after nearly a minute's thought, that going to watch a baseball game is probably an excellent reason.
Told him to take a week, like a cooling off period. If he feels the same way when I'm back from that blacksmithing workshop, we'll do it then.
She turned to Spike and took his hands. He's not doing this for selfish reasons, is he? He wants to be there with Connor in the daylight.
Her husband looked up at the faint stars visible through the haze of streetlight cast along Revello Drive. Dunno. You can see how it could be selfish. Does he want to be there in Connor's life every moment, or does he want to be there for Connor every moment? Can't read his heart, not really, but, yeah. I think it's for the right reasons.
The Powers That Be won't give him a do-over again. It would be permanent. Buffy watched Spike's face until he turned from the sky and back to her. She knew she wasn't anywhere old enough to be wise, but something in her hurt so much to think that she knew more about how to love at twenty-one than Angel did at two hundred and fifty. It really isn't our call.
No. It's his. Spike sighed and squeezed her hands. Then they were only on the couch. "Need to call Red. There's someone else to consider in this, I think."
After a moment of confusion, her eyes widened. "Cory?"
Spike nodded. "Sandy, too, maybe. I'll offer. Don't think any of the others would be interested."
"What about Lu?" Buffy winced after saying Luisa's name. She didn't want to give up Spike's best employee and felt very selfish for that. She finally took a sip of her wine spritzer.
Spike's jaw clenched. "I did plan – I'll ask her. I'd be surprised if she were interested."
It was Buffy's turn for a small smile. "Feeling bad and selfish about that, too?"
"Yeah. Couldn't rightly replace her."
"Make sure Cory understands that the soul is a curse."
"Dunno if that could make him feel any worse about whatever he did."
⸹
Buffy pulled out her phone. She was walking across campus on her way to her first morning class, and she was surprised anyone else was up this early. Then she saw the number and understood. It was well into the afternoon in London. "Hey, Daddy-O."
Giles sighed. "I'd prefer 'boss,' if you must call me something other than my name."
"What's up?"
"I have a favor to ask of you. Two, actually."
"Shoot."
"The Council is bringing all the non-English speaking Slayers here for a seminar in April. Faith is going to be the leader, but I wanted to borrow Spike, too. He speaks most of the languages, and," Giles voice dropped in volume, as though he might be overheard, "I thought he might wish to meet them in his role as Guardian."
"Have you asked him?"
"Well, er, I rather thought I'd ask you first."
"He's my husband, Giles, not my rent-a-vamp. Of course I don't have a problem with him being at the seminar. But you should ask him before he gets booked or something."
"I-I'll do that. And then I have to ask you if your fitness center will be completed by the second week of June."
Buffy's footsteps slowed as she approached her classroom, and her eyes narrowed. "Because you want me to host a seminar for the English-speaking Slayers."
"Er, yes. The Council will pay you for use of your facility, of course, and cover any expenses for the Slayers."
She sighed. "Why not? I'd already planned on a soft opening in mid-June to start the membership drive. If something is going to break, I can count on Slayers to find it."
"Whatever wrinkles crop up in the first seminar, we'll iron out before the second. It will go smoothly on our end, I promise."
"I suppose you'll want me to play Faith's role?"
"Of course. A-and take the young ladies to the construction site so they get a chance to feel the miasma of a Hellmouth."
"Miasm– Wow. You need to wash out your mouth. That's a ten-dollar Council of Watchers word, Daddy-mine."
"You aren't too old to put over my knee, you know."
Buffy laughed. "Class is starting. I'll talk to you later. Love you, Giles."
"I love you, too."
"Oh! Wait, don't hang up. I can't believe I forgot this. Angel wants to be human."
"Yes?" Her Watcher sounded impatient. "Hence that prophecy."
"No, he's chucking all that for Connor. Spike got him to wait a week, like a cooling off period, then we're getting the Mohra blood out of Mom's freezer and taking it to L.A."
Giles was silent for a long moment. Just before Buffy started to say his name, to make sure they hadn't been cut off, he spoke in a remote voice. "That seems… abrupt."
"I thought so, too, but Spike says Angel's been hinting about this for a few months." When her Watcher said nothing, Buffy plowed on uneasily. "I can't blame him for wanting to focus on his son instead of a destiny. They lost so many years."
"Er, yes. I'll ring off, Buffy, and let you get to class. Your mother sends her love."
Buffy looked at the phone in her hand, her brows drawn together. That seemed odd. Then she tucked her mobile into a pocket of her backpack and headed toward a desk.
⸹
London
⸹
"Is he asleep?"
Joyce started. "Oh! I didn't realize you were awake." She slid into bed and scooted close to him. "He's down. I changed his diaper, and he took half a bottle."
Giles pulled her close to him. "You're cold."
"You aren't," she breathed, drawing closer. She made a sleepy sound as she cuddled against him.
"Joyce? Before you fall back asleep, can I talk about something?"
Her head drew back, though she couldn't see him in the darkness. "Of course."
"This isn't something that makes me look good, I'm afraid."
"Nothing you say is going to scare me off."
Giles leaned in and put a kiss on her forehead. "Too late now."
"Hey, divorcee, here. Never say never," she teased.
"I am furious that Angel is going to be human."
Joyce's eyebrows rose. Of anything he might say, something about the big vampire was the last she'd expected. Propping up on one elbow, she put her other arm around him. "Why?"
"Because of Jenny Calendar."
"You haven't talked about her very much. I know Willow and Buffy were devastated when she died."
"She didn't die," he said bluntly. "She was killed."
"I know she was, Rupert." Joyce thought of how scared and confused Dawn had been. Even though she didn't know the teacher, Buffy and Willow's grief had made an impression.
"We weren't lovers, in case you wondered. That made the… staging worse. What might have been, you know?" When his wife said nothing, just rubbed her fingers along his shoulder, he sighed. "When Angel came back, it was… difficult. Buffy wasn't wrong to keep the secret. If I'd known, if I'd had the opportunity when he was weak, I would have killed him." His accent grew less polished. "Thought about doing it a few times anyway."
"I understand." Joyce leaned down and kissed his forehead. "I hate that you've ever been hurt, dearest."
"At first, our best guess was that the Powers That Be brought him back. He hadn't fulfilled his destiny as champion yet."
Ah. Joyce didn't say anything, but she knew where this was going. By the time they knew the First Evil had dumped Angel into the mansion, he had no longer been feral and was saving lives again. "And now that he's decided he isn't going to be that champion, you're left wondering what possible reason there was for Ms. Calendar to die."
"Yes," he breathed, closing his eyes, so grateful that she'd been the one to put it into words. "Don't think that I'm not grateful that we got a chance to know each other, and never think that I don't love you more than I've ever loved anyone," Giles rolled over and pulled her close. "But if Angelus' existence only mattered for a few more years, why couldn't she have…" His throat closed up. "She was so… vital, Joyce. She can't have died just because the high school had faster Internet than the dialup she had at her apartment." But Jenny had stayed to work late in a public building instead of her private residence for just that mundane reason. And she had died.
She held her husband close, not saying anything as he cried. He had done the same for her a few times as she unpacked all the damage Hank had done to her. "I can give you an easy answer," she murmured, waiting until he'd pulled away a couple of inches to wipe his eyes. "Connor."
"But even that could have happened earlier," he said thickly. "Darla was on the Hellmouth then."
Joyce put another kiss on his forehead and gathered him close. "I don't know the answer, sweetheart. I haven't had one since Celia died." She rocked him for a moment. "But I'm glad you told me. I want to know all of you, where you hurt, what ugly emotions you have, all of it. You've listened to all my fears about marriage and never made me feel like an idiot. Even if I don't have an answer for you, I always want to hear your questions."
Giles took a breath. "I love you," he whispered fiercely. "You're a hell of a woman, and I'm lucky to have you."
"We're lucky to have each other, and Max, and the girls." His head was held high again, so she brought her mouth to his. "Get some sleep, okay, honey? And next time we're in town, we'll go together and take flowers to Ms. Calendar's grave."
⸹
Sunnydale
March 2003
⸹
"No."
Spike nodded at Luisa, having expected this answer. He was sitting on the couch at her house, loosely holding a mug of cow's blood in his hand. "Because it's been too long?" All of her people were gone since her death, one way or another. They were speaking mostly in Catalan. He'd been trying to learn.
She shook her head. "The soul. I don't want it."
He gave her a thin smile. "I understand. Comes with a conscience."
"Do you think anyone besides Cory will want to do this?"
"I don't know. It's a hell of a thing to consider."
"Are you going to ask him while you're on patrol tonight?" When Spike nodded, she went on. "He's young, so he still has most of his old life in place."
"I don't think he has much to regret." Spike made a face. "Well, not compared to me. A handful of deaths, at most."
"One death is all it would take."
He looked away from Luisa's haunted face. "Yeah, so, I thought I would make the offer to you first."
"Chain of command?"
"Something like that. Though I might call it 'respect.'" He placed his mug on her coffee table and stood up.
"Thank you for asking." She switched to English as she stood and took a step back to make more room between them. "May I ask why you aren't doing this?"
"Like being a vampire, is all. Not much use to the Slayer as a human."
"Xander is."
"He is, but he isn't me."
"I was thinking about children."
Spike stilled and looked at his perceptive lieutenant. "We've talked about kids. Dunno that she wants them. If she does, we have options."
Luisa took this at face value, nodding her understanding. "Ah. Well, let me know if Cory says no. Otherwise, I'll assume he's going to do it."
"I will."
"Are you going to make the offer to the rest?"
"Have to, don't I? Think Brian might have done it, but I doubt anyone else wants to be human again."
"Sandy may wish to be human."
He shrugged. "She may not want that conscience." When Luisa made a commiserating face, he drew her close and touched foreheads with her. "See you tomorrow, Lu."
Cory was livelier now, but the losses they'd suffered on the Hellmouth in December still marked him. He looked older, Spike thought, as they moved from shadow into the light of streetlamps. "Got something I want you to consider," he began.
"I don't want to replace Vince," Cory interrupted.
"Didn't ask, did I?"
"I'm sorry, Master." Cory moved a few inches farther away and looked down, chastened.
"It isn't that I don't think you'd do a good job," Spike said, after a second of wrestling with his own conscience, "it's that you aren't old enough." He fell silent, wondering if Cory would dare to press him. It took over three minutes.
"What did you want to ask?"
Proud, Spike drew him from the sidewalk and into the street. It was after one a.m. in residential Sunnydale; they were unlikely to be interrupted by a car. He pulled shadow to cover them and spoke in a low tone. "Peaches has found a way to become human. It will work for any vampire with a soul. Wondered if you might be interested."
Cory blinked and shook his head in confusion. "I don't have a soul."
"Coven could fix that for you."
"I could be human again?"
"You have to have the soul first for it to work. You've met Angel. It's truly a curse. Everything that you did, it'll put the screws –"
"Yes."
It was Spike's turn to blink. Cory was staring at him, a terrible hope burning in his eyes. "Right, then. 'Bout a week from now okay?"
⸹
"Dawn, don't make me come all the way home."
"But, Mooo-ooom…"
"No 'buts,' young lady. You're sixteen; you aren't going to Cancun on your own."
"I won't be on my own. Janice –"
"Janice is not a trustworthy chaperone." Joyce's voice brooked no disobedience. "Your father is going to be in Los Angeles during spring break, and he wants to see you. You know that."
"Francesca will be there." Dawn's voice infused the name with loathing.
"Yes, well, life is full of people we don't particularly want to be around. You might as well practice while you're young."
"Wait. Aren't you supposed to say that I should give her a chance?"
"Dawn Michelle Summers, I am so beyond exhausted, it isn't funny. Max is teething, Rupert is running interference with a bloc of Council of Watcher relics who want to undo half of what Aubrey has done, my feet hurt, and," Joyce burst into tears, "I have cramps. You'll go visit your father in Los Angeles as planned, and that's final. You can spend twenty-three hours a day at the Hyperion for all I care, but don't you embarrass me in front of your father's girlfriend, young lady."
"Jeez, Mom," Dawn said, very much subdued, "I'll go. I'm sorry," she added in a mumble. "Are you getting any sleep?"
"No. I'd think that obvious."
Dawn started to remark that, like Madonna, Joyce was developing a British accent, but she enjoyed having her head attached to her body too much. "Maybe I could come to London?" she ventured.
"Where did Rupert put that crystal…?"
"Fine. I'll go to L.A. Go to bed, Mom." Dawn snapped her cell phone shut and glowered at it, feeling like a jerk for getting the last word and throwing all her teenaged snottiness at her mother, who was clearly somewhere past the end of her rope. She figured, since she was still sulking, she might as well call Janice to let her know that Cancun for spring break was a no-go. Dawn hadn't really thought Joyce would let her, anyway – five percent chance, at best.
Buffy showed up just as she was finishing the phone call, a bag of deli sandwiches and mustard potato salad indicating that tonight was a no-cooking night. Dawn moaned for a while about how unfair it all was.
"You knew she'd never let you go alone to a foreign country at your age," Buffy said, wiping a blob of tomato pulp from her lower lip.
"Yeah. But it would have been awesome."
"Who is going with Janice, anyway?"
"Her mom. I think she's divorcing her dad."
"Oh. That sucks for Janice."
"Doesn't it just?" Dawn looked at her sister, who had fallen silent. "You were fifteen when Mom and Dad divorced, right?"
"Yup. Plus I got all Chosen about the same time. Yay, big fun."
"Alby asked me to the prom."
It seemed a sudden change of topic. "Did you say yes?"
"Of course. I mean, it's my junior prom, so I could go anyway, but I want a date." Dawn picked at the little container of potato salad with her fork. "He wants to get a room afterwards."
Buffy froze. A dozen ways of responding to that flashed through her mind, before she settled on, "What do you want to do?"
"I love Alby, but I don't think I'm in love."
Buffy kept her tone mild. "Then you already know what you want."
"I don't, not really."
"Um… 'splainy?"
Dawn rolled her eyes. "I'm a teenager. I was made from you, Mom, and Spike. What do you think I mean?" Before Buffy could protest, Dawn gave her A Look. "Remember how I told you I caught Mom going out the door in a trench coat and nothing else when she and Giles were dating? And everybody knows how you and Spike are. If I've got hormones, I come by them honestly."
"Being horny isn't a good reason." Buffy put down her sandwich. "You're too young, Dawnie."
"You were, like, one day past sixteen when you –"
"And look how that turned out." Buffy pushed back from the table irritably. "God, I'm so sick of everyone knowing that. It should have been private, you know?" Then she shook her head and closed her eyes for a moment, mastering herself. "Sorry. Not about me." She gave her sister a searching look. "Is he pressuring you?"
Dawn looked startled. "Alby? No." She sent Buffy a look from beneath her lashes. "Did Angel pressure you?"
"God, no. We hadn't even really done anything much past kissing."
"So, how did you go from," Dawn wrapped her arms around herself and mimed closed-eyes, open-mouthed kissing, "to the horizontal bop?"
Buffy looked down. "I kind of planned it." She shrugged. "I know what it's like to be sixteen and horny, plus Angel was about to go away for a few months. I was all 'seize the day,' but I was so clueless." She made herself meet Dawn's eyes. "There's a whoooole range of things between kissing and sex. There should have been… pit stops." Her eyes narrowed. "And if you aren't in love, there shouldn't really be any of those."
"He's a virgin, too."
"Alby?"
Dawn picked up on Buffy's surprise. "Yeah, I know, right? So, neither of us would have high expectations. He's going off to college, so if it totally sucks, I won't have to see him at school next year." She shrugged. "And we do care for each other."
"Oh, so he is pressuring you."
"Well, he isn't wrong. Wouldn't it be better with someone I know instead of some rando I meet the first week of college?"
"Not without love."
Dawn gave Buffy a sulky look. It felt like her default setting tonight. "Oh, because love so made everything okay for you."
Buffy closed her fists, then her eyes. She forced both open. "Okay. I have a multitude of reasons to regret my first time, almost none of them having to do with the actual experience. Angel was the adult; he should have stopped me from flinging myself at him. But it wasn't awful or anything. He was as gentle as any girl could have wanted. We were both nervous, and things moved too fast, and," she shot Dawn a pointed look, "it hurt. I regret every bit of the aftermath, but the only reason I regret the actual decision was because a year later, I found the real thing." Buffy pushed the saltshaker and napkins aside and leaned over the table to take Dawn's hands. "Just a year."
"Getting a room was all his idea," Dawn admitted in a low voice.
"Well," Buffy said, "I'm not just 'voice of experience,' I'm 'Mormon Tabernacle Choir of experience.' What if you wait until August?"
"August?" Dawn echoed, puzzled.
"Just before he goes off to college. If you feel the same way, at least you'll be seventeen. And, hey, you'll hold out longer than your slutty sister."
Dawn glared at her. "You are not slutty. And you're saying wait because there won't be any prom magic in August."
"And you'll be able think clearly? Yuh-huh, pretty much."
Dawn leaned over the table and tugged Buffy closer. "What pit stops?"
The Slayer narrowed her eyes. "Handjobs. That's it. But if there is anything else, condoms."
Dawn wrinkled her nose. "Eww. Those taste terrible." At Buffy' expression, she hastily added. "Melinda! We bought a pack. She kept one, I kept one, and we opened the other one."
Realizing she was about to squeeze way too hard, Buffy let go of her sister's hands, shaking her head. "I'm glad we can talk about stuff like this, but I wouldn't be your age again for all the money in the world."
Dawn wheedled until Buffy agreed to help her clean up the kitchen and living room. She complained some more about missing Cancun, then asked Buffy about her plans. Apparently, her friend Katy was having an engagement party that Buffy had to go to at the beginning of UC-Sunnydale's spring break. Spike was going with her, then heading to Chattanooga for a workshop on blacksmithing.
"Will learning how to work iron really help make more Scythes? Isn't it made from steel or something?"
"Aubrey thinks it was forged from metal from a meteor. Spike says half the reason they're going to the workshop is to get a list of names of experts to hire as consultants."
"I'm surprised Xander is so excited about it," Dawn noted, culling through a stack of magazines on the coffee table.
"He's always liked working with his hands." Buffy paused, standing up from where she was dusting the hearth. "April is going to run the furniture shop while he's gone."
"Who's running the construction site?"
"His old boss Alvin." Buffy moved to dust the desk where Mom used to sit to do paperwork for the gallery and pay bills. "Anya says the memorial will be ready in time." The monument and fountain memorializing the lives lost during the Mayor's attempt at Ascension was already built. Anya had a sculptor coming in to work on the inscription in April.
"I sort of dread school next year," Dawn admitted. "I mean, it will be great to get out of those trailers and onto a real campus, but it's so far to drive." The new high school, built on the east side and away from the Hellmouth, was going to be unveiled the same week as the memorial. Seniors would get to walk across the stage in the new auditorium.
"Pfft. Think about how long it takes to get anywhere in Los Angeles. A Sunnydale commute is, like, no commute at all."
"Do you have your dress for Katy's wedding yet?"
"I'll have a fitting while I'm in Louisville for her engagement party." Buffy put her hands on her hips and considered the neat living room. "This looks pretty good. Don't have wild parties or anything, and all you'll have to do when you get back from visiting Dad is dust again."
"Thanks, little sister." Dawn went over and exaggerated how far she had to lean down to hug Buffy.
"It'll be okay," Buffy said, giving her a pass on the height humor. "Get Faith to come over. She'll keep Francesca in line."
"Mom said I could spend most of my time at the Hyperion."
"I'll warn them so they can stock up on mops." When Dawn gave her a quizzical look, Buffy smirked. "Because you'll drool so much over Groo."
Dawn shoved her. "He should get himself a better name."
"I think he's, like, Nathaniel Groosalugg West on his driver's license."
"Nate," Dawn giggled.
"Obviously, no one calls him that. Groo works for him."
Dawn's grin faded. "Are you okay with what Angel's doing?"
Buffy gave her a reassuring pat. "I am. I think it's the best thing for him. For Connor, too."
"I know you loved him, but… Do you think he really loved you?"
"He did. I know he did. But…" Buffy bit her lip. "This is where I would usually say, well, I sent him to hell, and after a hundred years there, he didn't feel the same. But I don't really know if he was in love with me."
Dawn gave her a shrewd look. "Because you know what true love is now."
She shook her head. "Because I don't know if he was really capable back then. I think Angel can love now," she added hastily, "and if I was, I don't know, a stepping stone for him to learn how to love," Buffy lifted a shoulder, "I'm okay with that."
"That's… kind of sad, Buf."
"No, not really. I just mean, I'm not sure Angel ever saw me. The real me, I mean, with the leg stubble and blowing off school for fear of being labelled 'smart.' He sort of saw shiny warrior woman for good and got knocked sideways because I was hot for him."
Dawn narrowed her eyes. "That was not your fault. You said yourself, he was the adult."
"No, I mean… If I had just been his friend, I think he would have been okay with that."
Her little sister gave her a pitying look. "He climbed the tree outside your window. That isn't all platonic ideal. That's stalker boy."
Buffy sighed. "It's this whole Mohra demon blood thing. It's got all the old memories stirred up. I want everything to have been my idea, so I have the illusion of control." She put her hand over her eyes for a moment. "I guess… If there's anything to take away from this, I just want you to know that you have more power than you think, okay? I don't want you to sleep with someone for the wrong reasons. I don't think I did, but the circumstances were wrong. There's always going to be another time for it to happen, okay?"
"Okay." This time, Buffy initiated the hug. "I miss having you here."
"You miss having anybody here."
Dawn snorted. "That, too. Oh, it's official. I don't know if you've talked to Mom or Giles, but he's been put forward as Aubrey's permanent replacement."
Buffy pulled away, her eyes wide. "No, I didn't know. But I guess I could see it coming."
"He's the best choice."
"Do you want to come and live with us, Dawnie? I mean, if you're lonely here…"
"Live with you and Spike? Eww, not hardly."
Buffy smacked her shoulder. "Poophead." She looked at the clock on the mantel. "I better book. Rising vampires won't wait around."
"Be careful."
"I will. And the offer stands." Buffy lifted a shoulder. "We could move back here."
"Mom says she'll probably come back with me for senior year. Giles will teleport on the weekends."
"You're going to London this summer?" Buffy threw the question over her shoulder.
Dawn nodded. "Who are you patrolling with tonight?"
"Luisa."
"You two doing okay?"
"Sure. Why wouldn't we?"
"Well, Spike hugs her now."
"He wouldn't if I had a problem with it. She's starved for touch. She'd patrol with her arm around me if I'd let her."
"Maybe she should get a dog."
"Um, you know why vampires don't get pets, don't you?"
Dawn was horrorstruck. "Eww. Really?"
"Not so much cats, but puppies, yeah."
"Oh, God, our lives are so weird!"
⸹
Buffy looked around, still stunned three hours into the party. She was on a farm. She was wearing the yellow dress Spike got for her for her eighteenth birthday, her hair was swept up in a chignon, and she still felt underdressed. "So, a horse farm is not exactly where Old MacDonald hangs out," she whispered to Spike. They were at Katy Loomis' engagement party, held in the early evening on a thoroughbred horse farm east of Louisville for three hundred of the couple's closest friends. The grass wasn't blue, but it was as perfect as a golf green. Black rail fences rolled flawlessly over the acres of pasture, and the barns were nicer than her house. Buffy was so glad Spike was with her; she didn't know anyone else, and apparently Katy was marrying into money.
Spike drew in a deep breath of the fresh air and stepped off the paved path to prop his arms on the fence rail. He was staring out at a knot of horses who were grazing near a copse of trees. "Old MacDonald had plow horses. Thoroughbreds cost money to buy and maintain, pet."
Buffy watched him for a moment. "This is something you missed," she decided after a moment.
"I suppose." He lifted one shoulder; he was wearing a black shirt and a loosened dark grey tie. His black suit jacket was hung on a chair back at the reception. Spike pointed to a black horse. "That one reminds me of Loki. Last horse my father bought for me."
Buffy's brows rose. "That horse that ran in the Kentucky Derby reminds you of your childhood pony?"
He chuckled and pulled her into a one-armed embrace. "Loki was a racehorse, love. Gelding. He looked like he was galloping when he was standing still."
She thought of the poem about horseracing William wrote all those decades ago. "So," she teased, "you weren't exactly the gentleman poet you claimed to be?"
"No, I was a right prat." He gave her a self-conscious smile. "But Spike didn't exactly come out of thin air. I've always liked speed."
"You should buy a horse, then."
"Oh, good Lord, no. You know how much work those are? Plus, animals don't much like the undead. Give me seven hundred horsepower that drinks petrol any day."
She looked across the pasture at the black and brown animals, all grace and dark, liquid eyes. "But horses are prettier." Buffy glanced at him sidelong. "You should have transformed into one of those."
"Horses aren't exactly predators, love. Not much use fighting evil."
She gave him a mental picture of a Pegasus. "Sorry. I left out some vital information. I meant a winged horse. For flying and stuff."
Spike looked at her, stunned. "Uh, never thought of it," he admitted.
"And," she said, looking a bit smug, "unlike dragons, horses aren't smarter than vampires. Though it's probably a close thing."
He was thinking too hard for her barb to land. "Might have to talk to Dog Boy about it," he admitted. "Mass couldn't be too far from the feline form."
Buffy gave her husband an indulgent smile. "Come on. We'd better get back to the Fancy People." He offered his arm, and she took it, resting her head against his shoulder. "Is this how you used to live?"
"No. London was nothing like this." His honesty wouldn't let him leave it there. "But I did spend summers as a boy at a country estate. Friend of my father owned it."
"No wonder you're comfortable no matter where you're at. You've lived all over the socioeconomic spectrum."
"Ooh, big words. Keep talking dirty like that, and I'll have to find a nice, dark hayloft."
Buffy looked over his shoulder at a temperature-controlled barn with spires on it. "I don't think they have those here," she said wryly.
Spike pulled her closer. "Bet they have saddles." His voice was sin-soaked as he sent her a mental image of them perched on one, facing each other.
Buffy groaned. "You are a bad man." I hate that we're going to be apart his week.
Me, too. I'll learn a little about blacksmithing, though, and be right back. An's already working through zoning laws to see about setting up a forge.
Pictures. Anya and I want pictures. It was her turn to send him an image.
He chuckled. I don't think they'll let us hammer hot metal bare-chested, kitten.
Buffy only got the words hammer, hot, and bare-chested, because she was thoroughly distracted now. Wasn't marriage supposed to cool her lust for her husband? Use that nose of yours. Find us hay. Or a saddle.
⸹
Los Angeles
⸹
"What do you think about Angel becoming human?" Faith asked Groo the question as they scaled a rusty fire escape. It was the best avenue to get to rooftops on this block.
Groo pushed away from patrol alertness as he considered the question. "Well, we'll be down one champion, but I think we'll be okay."
"Yeah." Faith jogged to the other side of the building to check the alley below. "I guess you get past two-fifty, you're kind of ready to retire."
"We aren't that long-lived on Pylea," Groo said, coming to stand next to her and guard her rear.
"Try being a Slayer," she said dryly. "We have a life expectancy of about three years after we're called."
"That's… terrible." Groo's brows drew together. "Why such a short time? I've been the Groosalugg for years."
"Maybe our demons are better than your demons."
Groo made a wet noise as he scoffed. "Your demons are smaller than ours." After a second, he admitted, "But more numerous."
Faith stuck out her tongue and grinned up at him. "My demon is better than your demon."
She started to turn away, but Groo took her by the elbow. He was frowning. "What do you mean, your demon?"
The Slayer shrugged. "You don't know about Slayers?"
He shook his head. "I know you are called and given power. Not like what happened in November, but when the Chosen One dies. Her power goes to a new Slayer."
It was her turn to scoff. "Well, it all had to start with one girl, right? She was chained down and had the essence of a demon forced into her. When she died, the whole 'Chosen One' thing got started when another chica got that power."
"You're part demon?" He still had her arm.
"No, I'm all Faith. But I've got a demon's powers."
"I'm part cow – human, I mean."
Why was he staring at her so oddly? "Yeah? I never would have guessed." Faith's voice was a little sarcastic; even in the light reflecting up from the streets, his eyes were gorgeous and strange.
"You aren't pure bred?"
She knew she looked bewildered, but couldn't hide her confusion. "Not anymore."
Groo gave the Slayer an intense look. He was part human. She was part demon. "That is awesome." And he pulled her close and kissed her.
Faith's surprise lasted about a half-second. She grabbed him by his arms – ooh, biceps! – and kissed him back with enthusiasm. Thirty seconds later, she had Groo pressed against some metal boxy thing on the roof, her legs wrapped around his waist. A minute later, she pulled away. "No complaining here, but what brought this on?"
And, just like that, he realized that he was an idiot. "Um," he managed, then got the rest out in a mumble, "in Pylea, I'm not allowed to touch anyone pure bred." He had been presumptuous.
Faith looked at his downcast eyes. "Hey," she said softly, waiting until he looked up. "You're in my world now. I kinda like you touching me."
"You do? I've wanted to for so long." The hint of a smile touched his mouth, and huff of air escaped him. "I mean, this is okay?"
"This is okay," she agreed, closing the distance between their lips again. "When we get back from patrol, we'll work on fantastic. Wonderful. Whatever is better than okay."
"I'm going to nibble your ears," he murmured against her mouth.
"That's not all you're going to nibble," Faith corrected him. "I've wanted this for a long, long time, too."
Groo pulled away an inch or so, his eyes wide. He'd read that passage in Connor's book, too. "I can do that," he informed her proudly.
⸹
"Hey, Papaw."
Angel drew his hand from his ear to stare at the phone he held for a moment. Then he put it back. "Uh, what?"
"Papaw. It's 'grandfather' in the American South." Spike shifted and made himself more comfortable on his sofa. "Well, got it screwed to the sticking place?"
Angel put his elbows on his desk and shook his head. "If by that you mean, am I still determined to do it? Yeah. I am."
He couldn't help smiling. "Good, then. Day after tomorrow okay?"
Angel swiveled in his seat. That would be Sunday. Connor had a baseball game at five on Monday. "Works for me. How was the blacksmithing?"
"Fun, what little we actually got to do. Lot of lectures before they turned us loose at the anvil. But I got what I needed. Already have someone coming in to help us set up shop."
"Where will it be?"
"North side of Kingsman Bluff. Anya said it's the only place the fire marshal would allow a mini-foundry."
"I'll have to come up and see it. After baseball season."
"You don't seem too nervous." Spike thought he seemed preternaturally calm about changing his fundamental state of existence, actually.
"I'm not. I've been thinking about this for a while."
"So has one of my minions. Cory. You remember him?"
Angel tensed. "I do."
"If it works for you, if the blood is still good, he wants to do the same thing."
"Willow is going to curse him with a soul?"
"Yeah, if everything goes okay Sunday." After a moment of quiet that his grandsire didn't fill, Spike added, "He's the only one, Angel. All those vampires out there, and fewer than a dozen interested in being part of the Sunnydale experiment. And, of those, only Cory wanted this."
Angel knew the boy was trying to make him feel better. "He's a better man than either of us, staying with his family and not killing."
"But a worse vamp. Means he doesn't have as much to fear from having the soul." Know what you wrestle with, Peaches. What you're doing… it's profound.
"It's still going to be the same soul."
"For what it's worth, Liam, I think you're doing the right thing." Spike sat up, hearing Buffy's car coming up the driveway. "Well, then, I'll see you Sunday. You need anything?"
"No. I'm good. See you around ten in the morning?"
⸹
Spike. I need you now.
Where?
Hyperion. My room. Now.
"…so, you see, you can't do this."
"Why now, Whistler? I haven't seen you for years." Angel gave him a mild look as he leaned against his bedroom door. It was one in the morning, and the little demon had popped in just a couple of minutes ago.
The shorter man waved his arms dramatically. "Because you haven't been this insane before?" He shook his head. "You can't do this. You're a champion."
"You ask too much of champions," the big vampire growled. "Not just me, either."
"That's what being a champion is." Whistler rolled his eyes. "It's making sacrifices. It's doing what other beings can't bring themselves to even contem– " He flinched and fell silent as two more people were suddenly in Angel's small bedroom.
They were back to back. Spike whirled immediately to face Whistler, game face already on. Next to him, Willow was holding her head with one hand and an Orb of Thesulah in the other.
"Really?" Angel asked, wincing as he realized Willow's first thought would always be Angelus. While he focused on her, Spike dropped the coat he carried and was on Whistler with a snarl. He grabbed the little demon by one vinyl-jacketed arm and twisted until he was bent with his nose shoved into the carpet.
Willow gave Angel a helpless shrug. "Sorry." Giving her head a little shake, she looked around without quite standing up. "What's going on?"
"Good question," Whistler ground out, his voice sounding muffled as it floated up from the floor.
"Who's this berk?" Spike was wearing a pair of buttoned but unzipped jeans and an inside-out t-shirt, his hair a mess of curls. Angel stole another look at Willow, who was wearing a t-shirt that was not quite long enough. Both of them smelled of sex, though not with each other.
"Agent of the Powers that Be." Angel went to his bureau and found a white t-shirt, one of his own, for Willow. He walked over and offered it to – he was ashamed that he'd checked – the natural redhead. "Here. Longer than Oz's. Thank you for coming."
Then he deliberately went to Spike and knelt before the Master of the Aurelians, offering his allegiance there with a cool look toward Whistler. After he made sure the message had been received, he went to game face.
Spike raised an eyebrow, spared a glance down at the agent, and stood up straighter to put on a bit of a show. He put his free hand on Angel's brow, a possessive gesture that marked him with the Master's scent. "Rise, Aurelian. What can I do for you, favored brother?"
You could zip up, Angel suggested. Helps the image.
Bollocks.
No, those aren't what I'm seeing.
The blond vampire gave him a quick grin but raised an eyebrow. Why am I here?
"You can educate Whistler on what a vampire can owe to someone outside the clan."
"Nothing, not without the Master's express permission."
Angel displayed his fangs in Whistler's direction. "There you go. I owe you nothing."
"That it? You don't wish for me to just kill him?" Spike sounded quite disappointed.
"You can't kill me." Whistler could also not break free.
"You want to test that?" Spike asked silkily.
Whistler rolled his eyes. "I'll just come back later, shall I?"
Nothing happened. The little demon twitched, then he struggled against Spike's hold. "What the hell?"
Angel's eyes went from Whistler to Spike, his eyebrows shooting up. Then he looked at Willow, who shrugged. She laid the orb in the center of Angel's bed. "Could you guys turn around a couple of seconds?"
The two Aurelians did so, after Spike made sure the only view Whistler might have was of her ankles. Giving Spike a sidelong look, Angel snagged the button of the boy's jeans and carefully pulled the zipper tab upward. He faced the wall again, his expression smug at the telltale twitch he'd felt.
Thanks. The word was a bit sour.
Any time… Master. He felt unaccountably light. No one ever fought his battles for him. And all he'd had to do was ask.
"All covered," Willow announced. They turned around to find her wrapping the orb in the t-shirt she'd doffed. Now covered to her knees, she examined the captive as he gave another lurch against the iron grasp that held him in place. "That's an agent of the Powers?"
Spike turned his attention to Whistler, exerting a little more pressure. "And he's bothering you?"
Angel shrugged. "He's the one who sent me to Sunnydale and Buffy. First time I've seen him in years was tonight, when he showed up to tell me I can't give up being a vampire."
Spike's eyebrows rose. "He implied that you don't have free will?"
"He has a destiny!" Whistler ground out.
"That doesn't sound very much like higher powers to me," Willow put in.
Spike glanced at the other two, then let out a small sigh. "Right. Gonna let go of you now, let you have your say."
Whistler picked up his hat from the floor and moved away from both Spike and Angel before placing it back on his head. "It's all about balance, kids. Angel can't just give up being a champion."
"Why not?" Willow's fine brows drew together. "Twenty-seven new warriors of the people came into play in November. If that didn't throw things out of balance, how could this?"
Whistler opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He snapped it close. "That's different," he managed after another moment.
"How?" Spike asked.
"Look, it just is!" This argument didn't sway any of them, and the blond vampire audibly scoffed. "There are prophecies," Whistler added.
"The prophecies will still be there," Angel said mildly. "They just aren't about me."
"You can't just say that and make it so!"
"Yes, he can." Spike was on Whistler again, grabbing the lapels of his cheap jacket and pulling him close. For the first time, his skin touched Whistler's, his knuckles against the demon's neck.
It was a revelation. The little messenger felt like some of the true demons he'd fought, a low hum of wrongness that made his skin crawl. At the same time, every sound dropped out of existence as the world around them froze.
"You don't belong here," Spike whispered. His grip tightened.
"Let go of me!"
"I think not." He glanced around at Willow and Angel, both still, caught in mid-motion. Somehow, Spike knew the frozen moment was his, not Whistler's. "Why are you here?"
His wary gaze never left Spike, even as he nodded toward Angel. "For him. He has a destiny in several realities."
A lot was happening inside Spike, connections made, realizations solidifying. There had been hints early; there had been echoes since the Siren told him that this was his world, created so that love could conquer all. After knowing that, he'd followed his instincts to the Scythe, to incredible transformations far beyond his physical ability. And his mate had defeated a Hellgod.
This was an agent of Powers that had no place in this reality. For the first time, someone had explicitly crossed the rules of his world. And he wasn't going to tolerate it.
"You don't belong in this reality. My world, my rules. There is no 'balance.' Evil may be persistent, but it isn't as strong. Good wins more often than not in my world. And prophecies mean nothing."
"It may be your world," Whistler said, his words calm, "but I come from the Powers That Be."
Spike's eyes blazed with a clear light and sound and motion came back into the room. "Angel has free will." Spike dropped his voice so low that Willow couldn't hear him and even Angel had trouble making out his words. He was so close to Whistler now that their noses were practically touching. "They don't own him."
"Neither do you."
Spike kept one hand on Whistler, but moved away, drawing up to his full height. "I don't own him. I love him." He glanced away. "Liam? What was the name of that friend of yours, the one who took you in just before you came to the States for good? Drogo or something?"
"Drogyn?" Angel was thrown by the abrupt question.
"That's the one." Spike gave Whistler a cruel smile. "What was that he was in charge of, like a prison warden? The well of something?"
"Drogyn is the Keeper of the Deeper Well."
Spike felt Whistler go completely still. The agent didn't even breathe. Spike's smile grew colder. "And it was a prison for the Old Ones? For gods that had outlived their usefulness?"
Angel's eyes widened. Spike was threatening the Powers That Be? The boy was insane. He'd back his play, anyway. "That's right."
"No mortal knows where it's at," Whistler said, something desperate in his tone.
Angel shrugged. "Still a vampire. Drogyn was kind enough to take me in when I stopped a demon who was sneaking up on him. As I remember, the Cotswolds are lovely this time of year."
Willow, quick and perceptive, threw in her contribution. "I can take us there now, if you like."
"It wouldn't do you any good." Whistler's eyes were rolling between the three of them now. Spike and Angel could smell the fear on the little demon. "You might hold me, but that's all."
"Angelus is still in the room," Spike pointed out. "What I see from where I'm standing, you can't leave, Willow can take us to the prison, and Angelus is a master of torture. If we need your employers' secret names or whatever, I believe he can get that information out of you. Once we have those, we can summon them." He leaned a little closer, the blue of his eyes nearly colorless and blazing. "I'd say being imprisoned in this world would put a crimp in the Powers' plans in all the worlds."
"You're bluffing."
Angel gave a humorless laugh. "Unless it's poker, William the Bloody doesn't bluff." He lifted a shoulder. "Though he does cheat."
The "Oi!" Spike threw over his shoulder was perfunctory. His eyes came back to the agent. "Do you understand who has the power here?"
Whistler stared at him a long moment. Spike rather thought the Powers' messenger could hear his thought: if he held Willow's hand, she could read the plans for sarcophagi wrought to hold gods that his inner Guardian knew... and she had the magic to create them.
Whistler licked his lips and swallowed. "I understand."
"Don't ever come near Angel or any of mine again, outsider."
Whistler made a jerking motion, but stayed where he was, pinned by Spike's grasp on his jacket. "Let me go." It was a plea.
The blond vampire gave him the cold, mocking smile again and let go, holding up his hand so his palm faced outward. Whistler didn't bother resettling his lapels, just gave Spike a wide-eyed look and vanished.
"What was all that?" Angel asked suspiciously.
"Attitude, mostly." Spike turned to him, upper lip curled. "Like we don't know how all this works. Berk shows up here, telling you what you can and can't do. Slavery's illegal. That's been settled law for two hundred years; everybody knows that."
"Uh, a bit less here," Willow mumbled.
"How does that work with vampire hierarchy, exactly, Master?" Angel's tone was dry.
"How come I have to make sense, when he didn't?" Spike complained. "'It just is,' my arse. Free will is older than the Old Ones."
"Yeah, he didn't have much aptitude for the law," Willow agreed. She walked around the bed and put a hand on Angel's arm. "Are you okay?"
"I am." He covered her hand. "Thank you for showing up. Both of you."
"So, tell me about this Deeper Well thing," Willow said. "There's a prison for Old Ones?"
Spike's eyes were narrow with thought. "Actually, Peaches, can you show Red the entrance? I don't trust that little rat pack git. I think it's something we should all know. Just in case he comes back."
⸹
Spike? Where are you?
Sorry, love. Hope you'd sleep through. Angel had a visit from a messenger of the bloody Powers.
Buffy sounded much more awake. They don't want him to be human?
Not their call.
Her sleepy eyes widened at his vehemence. Are you coming home soon? She felt him hesitate before he came back with a question.
Would you mind if I stay with him? We've been poncing about half the globe tonight, it seems. He isn't all that settled.
Something about Spike sharing a bed with Angel on his last night as a vampire scraped against her senses, not as a Slayer but as a wife. Do you really think that's a good idea?
No, he answered after a moment's thought.
She smiled, glad he was aware of the danger. But you should stay, anyway.
Thanks, love. Do you want to be here, too?
No. But thanks for asking. See you in the morning.
I love you, Buffy.
I love you, too. Try to get some sleep, both of you.
Buffy lay back against her pillow, aware of how big the bed seemed without her husband in it. He'd given her no grief about kissing Faith. Even if she didn't trust Angel as far as her little brother could throw him, she trusted Spike. With a sigh, she reached for his pillow, breathed in his scent, and hugged it against her chest. Within a few minutes, she was asleep again.
⸹
I'm fuckin' furious.
Spike let his eyes go yellow as he listened, wanting to see Angel's expressions. Willow had given them both a hug before heading back to Sunnydale ten minutes ago, but her sweetness hadn't touched Angel's mood. He was flat on his back, mashing his pillow between his big hands. They'd been in bed with the lights out since Red left, but these were the first words he'd gotten, and there was a definite Irish lilt to the words.
Anything specific? Or just generally furious?
Angel flashed him a look. I keep thinkin' of how he showed up, threw me into Sunnydale.
And got you halfway on your feet after what sounds like a bad run of years.
I don't think I knew what pain was until he interfered.
Spike thought of how much pain Buffy had suffered because Whistler put forth the idea that her love was Angel's reward for turning white hat. He made sympathetic noise, and wished he could take it back as soon as he had Angel's next thought.
A hundred years in hell. A hundred fuckin' years.
Even though his jaw flexed in irritation, he put a hand out and laid it on Angel's shoulder. Pretty sure the git didn't know what he was about, just interfered with you here because he'd done it before elsewhere.
That fact that he's an ignorant whoreson doesn't excuse his meddling.
No. No, it doesn't.
Angel seethed silently for a moment. I nearly lost it there, you know. His tone was quieter.
Lost what?
The ability to love. Being in hell took nearly everything of me. I've been running from it ever since.
Spike propped up on his elbow. This, what we're doing in the morning… Is that part of it?
Angel nodded, then put the pillow over his face. We should have killed the little bastard.
Yeah, well, being a messenger works both ways. If we'd killed him, those gits might have sent another, one we wouldn't recognize right away.
Angel let out his breath and put the pillow against the headboard. Why did you call him 'outsider?'
He felt sorta like a true demon. Spike thought of how Doc's tongue had felt, the sense of wrongness against his hand. They don't belong here; neither did that little wankstain.
Angel nodded in the darkness. After a moment, he sent a calmer thought. Thank you for staying. He rolled to his side. Spike didn't move away, and their faces were only inches apart. Thank you for having my back. When the other man only shrugged, he admitted, I'm going to miss talking like this.
It's going to be strange.
It's not like I'm leaving you without family.
Spike nodded. It'll be harder for you than for me. Buffy and I talk like this. I have a sense of Connor as family.
Angel's mouth tensed. I'll miss that, too.
But you'll have so much more.
Something's been on the edge of that sense of family for a while.
Spike's eyebrows rose. Angel had been sensing another Aurelian? Someone you sired in Sunnydale?
Angel shook his head, a little frustrated. I don't know. That doesn't seem quite right, but there really isn't anyone else left. He sighed and put his hand out to cup Spike's jaw. I'm sorry, boy.
Spike felt a long list of violent, sadistic incidents scrolling through his grandsire's mind. Long journey that brought us here, mate. Don't know that we really could have missed any of the steps on the way.
Maybe not. The sense of his anger, which had dimmed, came back. It was nearly as hot as it had been. But Whistler didn't help.
No. But do you regret meeting Buffy?
Angel took his hand away from Spike's face, and his eyes fell. No, he admitted. But I regret… how I thought of her.
Spike got a weird visual of Buffy licking a lollipop and looking like the dictionary definition of jailbait. The git couldn't have shown you a plain-faced Slayer, I guess. The fact that your savior looked like your natural prey probably added that little extra something to what he was dangling.
Angel closed his eyes, and Spike could sense him struggling with something. Angelus wasn't obsessed with her, not until after she released him. It was all me. The soul, I mean.
Spike wasn't sure what he was supposed to do with this information, so he just put out a hand to rest on Angel's shoulder.
I don't know how to love.
He tightened his grip for a second. You're learning. You've been learning.
I'm going to mess this up.
Spike felt Angel's rising panic and pulled him into a tight embrace, his chin on Angel's shoulder. You won't. Think of it, Liam. Holtz brought up Connor to hate you, but he wasn't able to, not even from the first. He knew you loved him. You're going to be fine. Think of all the people you love, yeah? We think you're doing fine. You're only going to get better.
Angel stayed with his wet face pressed against Spike's neck for a long minute. He could sense Drusilla's mark on the boy's flesh, faded now that she was dust. You really think so?
I do. I know so.
He drew away a moment later, taking a shaky breath. "Thank you for staying."
"'Course I stayed." Spike had an idea of why Angel pulled away from the bloodlink, from the intimacy, so he was surprised when Angel leaned closer and kissed him. He gave the big vampire a half-smile when he pulled away after a couple of seconds. "What was that for?"
"I don't know how else –" Angel drew in another breath, still unsteady. "Sorry."
"No worries, mate. You think you can sleep now?"
"I – Yeah, I can sleep."
"Here." Spike settled his shoulders against the mattress and drew Angel to him.
The big man resisted for a moment, then let his head fall against Spike's abdomen, his all-time favorite pillow. Their friendship wouldn't end tomorrow, but this was the last family bed. Even if they shared a bed again, even if his head rested against Spike's torso, the sense of safety, of rightness would be gone.
And he could be in the daylight with both his sons.
"Good night, Angel."
"Good night, boy."
⸹
Next Chapter: Sam Lawson crashes into Angel's plans to become human.
