2
The picture froze, the whole lot of them still like bloody dummies. He took in every inch of Buffy. The fly-away pieces of her blonde curls, the glistening of her lips and how straight they were set, her jaw steel. Her green eyes stared into his unapologetically. She had said something, and he still hadn't believed it. Still wouldn't believe it. She hadn't said that. Some other words'd come out of her mouth and he hadn't been listening again. He'd made it up.
Or they were just plain, sodding, wrong.
"What?" He nearly jumped at hearing his own voice. "Is this some sort of a bloody joke?" His tone jumped higher, uneven. But that was the only explanation for it, wasn't it? They were having a sodding laugh, they were. This was some made up barmy, an' any second, Jade'd come out from behind the curtain and reveal herself. No, that wasn't her style. She wasn't the impish kind. No, this was a joke they were having at her expense, because she never had the ease to fit right into the camarilla and be part of the group. So this was them, making right fun of her and that was a bloody travesty.
"No," Buffy was shaking her head. She looked serious. Didn't mean she wasn't just as into it as the rest of them, staring at him like that. "It's not a joke. Spike, we're serious. The facts aren't telling us any different."
"Sod your bloody facts then."
"Spike," Angel said reprovingly from where he stood, the great big Peach. "Don't take it out on Buffy, she—"
"And where do you lot get off? Telling me something like this, playing the big ol' tease. You're off your nutters." He shook his head with disgust, taking a step to the side and past Buffy. Couldn't stand to look at her right now. Her expression looked callous, cold. The sympathy had dripped away, and this was Slayer Buffy that was left now.
"We're telling you the truth," Xander spoke, for the first time. "Wish we weren't, Spike, but…" It was the first time the one-eyed man had spoken, and Spike felt his annoyance for the twerp increase tenfold. Any of the gits who'd spoken, Spike had no patience for them. None of them were saying what he wanted to hear.
"An' I'm telling you. It isn't sodding possible."
"Spike—" He wasn't sure who was saying his name that time. An amalgamation of all their little siren voices maybe, piled on top of each other. He swirled fiercely, not quite sure where to direct his anger to, so he chose all of them.
"I left her four bloody hours ago!" He shouted. Growled it. He was so angry, he felt the demon pushing at him, wanting to be released. But golden eyes and fangs would do little now.
"And who, exactly, did you leave her with?" Rupert sounded curious, not accusatory, but Spike could barely differentiate the difference. Sod always sounded like he was disapproving. Acting like he was the elder in the room when Spike nearly had a half century on him. Acting like he was the superior one here, all poncy and tweed from his Watcher days.
"Some broad. Friend o' hers." Spike paced again, passing the table in such a quick stride that some of the papers on the surface of it flew off, like leaves falling to the floor. Xander made an annoyed sound in his throat, opening his mouth to say something, but after a cutting glare from Buffy, he closed it without a word. Buffy was the bloody antagonist and the protector at the same bloody time and it made his head want to spin. His head was spinning. Bloody world too, at that. They were wrong. He'd prove them wrong and they'd feel like sodding berks, then.
"What kind of friend?" Angel prompted. A flare of anger coursed through him, fierce and animalistic at the insinuation that it was some sort of special friend, the shagging kind, like Jade'd be like that, although before Spike could snap an irritable answer, he realised the git was probably asking if the friend was human or not. That cleared his head a bit, although he didn't see how it was important. What they needed here was to speak to Jade. Get it straight from the source, not this bloody conjecture bit.
"A demon. Erm, looks like human, bloody isn't. A Mok'Tagar Demon, think the chit is," Spike wracked his brain, knowing that Jade'd mentioned it once before, although Spike hadn't been terribly interested in her, Lyth. The one who'd complained through their poker games, but still gave him those 'sex me' eyes. He'd just moved to Haven, and he'd be tempted to find some way to put Buffy out of his head, but he hadn't given in. Good thing too. Some of her gab reminded him of Harmony, a lack of a bloody filter, or empathy.
And a lack of a soul, right? That's how those Mok'Tagar demons lived.
"A Mok'Tagar Demon?" Buffy echoed incredulously. "Spike, I had one as a roommate. She tried to take out my soul. She nearly did!"
All their eyes on him, accusatory. Thinking he was the big, stupid lug. That they were right, and he was wrong. That there was no mistake now, Jade was walking 'round the world without a soul to her name.
"Jade knew that," Spike defended her fiercely. "Weren't bloody blind to that thought. Dealt with her just fine. And she's a bloody Slaypire now, if the broad couldn't handle it before, how would she bloody manage it now?"
"You did say," Rupert pointed out. "Broken arms? How much would she be able to defend herself without them?"
"I, I," He stammered. Bloody stammered, like he was still William Pratt the bloody awful poet, because their sodding, terrible assumption was beginning to add up and he was standing here the fool. A fool with no Jade at his side. Jesus, Christ. What had he been thinking? Leaving Jade with that broad. Jade had never sounded over-worry about Lyth, or whatever her name was, but she was always cautious. Wary, with the demon. As she should be. And Spike'd delivered her to the demon's front step. With broken, bloody arms.
No. It bloody well didn't happen like that. He refused to believe that… that this was all his fault. No. It didn't happen. Something else was the scary in the dark of night, but it wasn't Jade.
"She killed a sodding Ancient vampire without em," He finally managed to say, eloquence be damned. The pride in his voice was tempered by fear. Sodding fear. They were wearing him down. Any second, they'd come out with the 'ha fooled you', and he'd feel like a bloody idiot.
But he'd be relieved.
"But is it possible?" Rupert continued. Prompting, like Spike was his little Slayer, needed help to answer a geography question. They were being patient with him. Kind.
It was sodding terrible.
"Is what possible, Rupes?" Spike snapped back irritably.
"That this Mok'Tagar Demon you know, nabbed the soul." Harris spoke up. "Because I seem to remember Buffy's roommate getting pretty close with hers."
Buffy's expression had taken on a sour turn at the memory, then turned her undeniable, burning gaze on Spike. Unrepentant.
"No," Spike growled. "No."
"Because it seems like—"
"I said, no!" Spike's foot flung out, hitting one of the empty chairs. It spun on its leg, then teetered and snapped in two.
"That inanimate object is not to blame," Illyria said, matter-of-fact.
Spike was spared a scathing response to Illyria's comment by Buffy reaching out and gripping his arm, her hold strong, like a manacle. He tried to shake her off again, but she wasn't so easily deterred. Wouldn't mean he couldn't get out of it. Throw a bit of a fit, he could unsteady her some. Wasn't like Jade's hold. He couldn't get out of that if he wanted to. Slayer and Vampire strength was a bloody powerful, tremendous combination.
And now it was in the hands of someone without a soul.
No, no, he wouldn't think like that. They were wrong. Sod them all. They were all off their bloody nutter.
"Who else would go to these places?" Buffy said, her voice cold steel. "Huh, Spike? These are her haunts, aren't they?" Unspoken words flashed, a 'you would know' that Buffy didn't voice aloud.
"Someone after her, then," Spike answered dully. "Someone hunting her down."
"And she's not answering her cell, why?"
"Broken, then, bloody hell, she has no arms for it?" Spike shot out. "Jus'…just get bloody Willow in here then—sod it all. Your girlfriend took a hell of a time to decide to go waltz off into the other, bloody, dimension," He shot at Kennedy, who'd been quiet, for bloody once.
The Slayer's face hardened. Probably been picking up quite of bit of flak 'cause of her lover's absence, but he didn't care. He wanted someone to blame, and he never much liked Kennedy anyway. "She isn't to blame for this."
"No?" He wheeled to face her, only half-hampered by Buffy's hand still on his arm. "'Cause it sure bloody seems that way. Went in there thinking we'd have backup, yeah? A good ol' call home if you need a bloody rescue, but she wanted to go off with her little witchy mentor and leave us all to hang an' dry. Leaving a little half-drained, assaulted, bloody Slayer in the cells with us, Jade'd with her shattered arms, in which, bloody world is this not her fault?"
"She has other things to worry about," Kennedy snapped, but it was lacking a hard edge. She didn't have a better excuse than that. Must have been run dry over the last week.
"Yeah, other than her friends and girl, then," Spike replied, scathing. Kennedy's eyes flashed, deepening into a dark scowl.
"Enough," Buffy tightened her grip on Spike's arm, enough to the point that it hurt, tearing his gaze off of the dark-eyed Slayer and back to Buffy.
"We've contacted the coven," Giles was saying, calmly. "Willow put a…safeguard on the necklace, if you will. It should be able to reveal if it has been separated from its owner."
"And what's it say?" Spike snarled.
"They haven't been able to determine that yet," the Watcher admitted, touching his fingers to the frame of his glasses and taking them off. Spike was filled with a sudden urge to rip the spectacles from his fingers and smash them to the ground. Wouldn't help matters any, but it'd make him feel better. "It was Willow's spell. They're working through it."
"The sub, bloody par group then," Spike snarked. "'M filled with sodding confidence."
"They are quite capable, I assure you," Rupert responded with unexpected vehemence. Defensive, for some reason that might have amused or even interested Spike, but not now. "It will take them some time, but they are working through it."
"Lovely," Spike sneered. "In the meantime, 'M heading back to Haven. Proving you sods wrong." He looked down at the hand still wrapped around his arm, glancing to Buffy with irritation. "Min' letting go?"
"No. Spike, you can't go there by yourself." Buffy said, refusing to budge. Spike growled, twisting his arm that it unbalanced Buffy and he stepped free.
"Like bloody hell I can't." He responded, but as he stepped towards the door, Illyria and Kennedy were there, unnatural blue eyes and dark holes meeting his.
"Spike. If you're right, and we're wrong about Jade, you should stay here to know for sure." Buffy pointed out. Her expression was cool, but there was a flash of pain behind her emerald eyes. Like that bloody mattered at the moment.
"And she's probably moved on," Harris pointed out. "To go out and reign destruction—I mean rescue puppies," he after a furious look from both Spike and Buffy.
"Just wait." Buffy said. Less of an order now, trying to get through to him. "No-one's allowed to go out on their own right now. After the coven gets back to us, then we can get them to use a spell to find her." Spike waited to see if she'd add a, 'and then we'll help her', or even a 'then we'll find her', but no such sentiments came from the blonde Slayer.
"Fine," Spike growled. "But 'M still having a cigarette. 'Less you want me to do it in here."
"Fine." Buffy echoed him. "Angel, go with him."
Spike growled, while the big sod just looked irritated.
Buffy looked at the two of them. "Non-negotiable."
Spike growled again, but the look he got in return meant it clearly wasn't up for discussion. "Sod it," he muttered. "Come along, then, Peaches." He fished a cigarette from his pocket, crumpled, and shoved it between his lips. Angel's scowl remained, but then he straightened up, glancing in Buffy's direction, and finding no quarter in her fierce green eyes. With a shrug, the hulking vampire crossed the room, following Spike as the two of them stepped out into the foyer.
"Wouldn't be smart to try to tag after her alone," Angel warned.
Spike snorted, the two of them turning around a corner, passing more battle-ready Slayers that let the vampires pass with only a careful look. "'M not going to. 'cause she's fine." If he said it with enough confidence, maybe he'd begin to believe it?
He could only bloody hope. "'Sides, you worry that you'd have to try to stop me? An' lose again?"
A growl sounded deep in Angel's throat. Still a sore spot with his grandsire, then. A sigh followed his growl, then. "Seems like you care for this Jade, quite a bit," the wanker said instead.
"Keep your opinions to yourself," Spike snapped back. Bloody Slayers at every exit and entrance, giving Angel and Spike warning looks as the vampires stepped outside and into the cold. Bloody keeping up the Fort Knox appearance then. Scared to go out at night with a vampire on the loose. A bunch of Slayers, shaking in their skivvies. Because of Jade.
No. It wasn't her. Some other big bad. It wasn't her, because she was fine, and he'd see her again and they'd have a big laugh. He'd tell her that she wouldn't have to face her biggest fear, losing her soul. Yeah. That was how it'd go. She was the one of them that got the clean slate, after all. She worked so bloody hard to keep it that way. It didn't go like this.
It was cold outside, wind swirling at them. Spike felt it more strongly than he normally did, could feel the bite of it like a whip. Wished he'd gotten his duster, the near-floor length jacket. Made him feel more imposing. Like less could bloody touch him. He glanced to the Sod, who lingered close.
"So you're back to being ordered 'round by Buffy, then?" Spike asked. Couldn't help himself. He was hurting, so it was time to lash out. And his history with Angel always provided him with plenty of ammunition. "Thought you got your own crew to break out of her shadow a bit, but looks like you still like the glorified guard dog job."
"It's not like that," Angel said, a big stiffly, giving himself away, despite his reach for nonchalance. "She has a lot on her mind."
Spike snorted. "Bet she does. How to keep her girls safe while Big Bad Jade runs 'round." He let out a bitter laugh, hoping Peaches wouldn't hear the fear laced in it. That he'd hear the scorn, because he did have bloody scorn for the whole damn thing, thinking that Jade could do this. His Jade. Her heart was her biggest, bloody weakness, and there was no way she'd lost it. Gone after that orphanage of kids she swore she didn't like, but always managed to look out for them anyway. She wouldn't.
"You shouldn't treat her with such scorn," Peaches said, but Spike was sure that the older vampire hoped Spike would lose his flame for the blonde. Angel'd always hated the two of them together. Thought he had dibs because he'd been first. Like Spike was somehow the worst possible thing for Buffy, like a brand of hell designed just for Angel. But if Spike was a wanker, much of it could be blamed on Angel, and that's what the Sod hated. Hated the twisted being that Spike'd been. Hated that he'd been the cause of it. So that's what it was, guilt, mostly. A reminder of all of Peaches' big bad that didn't go away just because he had a soul.
Jade's wouldn't go away either.
Bloody hell, he couldn't think like this. Wouldn't. His fingers trembled slightly as he lit the cigarette, taking in a big inhale that didn't begin to steady his trembles.
"She thought you were dead," Angel continued. There was a melancholic edge to his voice. Like he was dismayed to realise that yeah, Buffy actually gave a lick for Spike. Wasn't just for the shagging, thought it had been good. But bloody hell, Spike didn't even feel like bragging about it anymore. He'd been looking forward to this, seeing Angel while it was official and bloody real between him and Buffy, all stamped and dated, like. But he couldn't even bring himself to brag. 'Cause it didn't seem like such an accomplishment anymore.
"I'm sure it just tore her to pieces," Spike said, bitterly. Bloody hell, had he always been this sour about the whole thing? He thought he had. Been nothing but a thorn in his side, all these years. Being treated like dirt. Never good enough to be loved, but useful enough to be used, that'd been his bloody existence. Trying to be important in Buffy's eyes so he had a place in this world.
Well he'd found his own place now, hadn't he? It wasn't at Buffy's beck and call. Not anymore. No. But it wasn't here, either. It was with a woman with the bluest, most softest eyes he'd ever seen, that always looked at him like he was something. Like he was a man. He'd thought Buffy'd made him feel like that, but he hadn't had an idea, had he? Been so desperate for anything, he'd blown it all out of proportion. Thought that was how love was supposed to be. Painful and degrading. If that was the case, then he was head over heels in it for Buffy.
But he learned more now. Knew better. So while the love he had for Buffy would always be there, it was layered now, with some undeniable vitriol and resentment. And that wasn't all her fault. It was just who she was and how she had to be. And he'd loved her for that. Make just as much sense to loathe her for that too, on the other side of the sodding coin.
"Well, I wouldn't go that far," the Poof answered, a bit snide, in the nature of self-preservation. 'Course he wouldn't want to admit that Buffy'd be beside herself if Spike hit the dust for real this time. The selfishness of it, as well as just it being something expected, coming from Angel and all, made Spike crack a smile. Yeah, they weren't best buddies. Never would be. But they understood each other, at least.
"Yeah, you wouldn't." Spike said into his puff of smoke.
"And actually, I was here on an entirely different errand." Angel pointed out. "I wasn't called here. I was here already."
"Still on a leash."
Angel frowned, his dark eyes looking through Spike. "Not as short as yours," the elder vampire shot back.
"Yeh, that'd be the truth." There was no bite in Spike's words, just calm acceptance. Never denied he was a bitch to love, now did he. Be a bit of a falsehood. "'Least it was," Spike said, not able to help himself. "But I mean, how much can a fella take after he just gets tired of the whole bloody thing." He was rambling now. At least gabbing about Buffy put the fear out of his noggin for a moment.
"Well, you know my stand on the whole thing," Angel answered. "You two never belonged together." No, 'course not. Not in Angel's head, no. Buffy was his pretty little blonde princess from some fairytale where the prince never became a giant wanker. Though everyone always figured Angel and Angelus were two completely different bloody personas, when Spike knew they weren't all that different. Knew it better than most. Was no happy fairytale ending, if it starred the Poof.
He probably expected Spike to get angry. Hell, Spike was tempted. The spark rubbed, but it didn't catch flame. Angel'd told him this before. And Spike had all the reason to be mighty superior about it now. Got the girl. He could mention it right now, remind the Sod and rub it in his face a little.
But it didn't seem right to brag about a prize he didn't intend to keep.
"Might be that you're right."
Angel looked surprised at Spike's simple acquiescence, but instead of the pleased look Spike expected to follow, he simply looked introspective.
"Doesna mean that you're the right sod for her either," Spike added, with his trademark smirk. Trying to keep the game at a place they were familiar with. Buffy'd always be a bit of a sore spot between the two of them. Even if Spike had doubts about staying in the court, didn't mean he thought Angel had a claim on her either.
"I could have helped, with Jade, you know." Angel said, then. "I know a thing about—"
The calm was shattered. Spike spat out the cigarette in his lips and let it fall to the ground. There was a layer of frost there, on the brown grass, but no snow. He stomped at it without much care, not even looking at where his boot was, his smouldering gaze directed at the arrogant wanker.
"Know a thing about what?" He snapped, fiercely. "Taking blood from the dead like some sort o' vulture? Drinking up rats? Yeah, you've got a fantastic bloody track record with restraint, don't you? An' you know what? She doesn't need any help. Could ha' done without mine, just fine too. Sure as hell doesn't need you. Don't need you at all."
He began to pace again, irritable, charged up. "An' you know what? Even if, even bloody if you sods are right, an' she's lost her soul, well, she's not a giant prat like you. She'd deal with it. Somehow. She's bloody strong. Stronger than any—what would you even know. Just because you have a Slayer trailing you that thinks she's all dark side, and you, you think by playing your little group redemption therapy that it might get your bloody hands cleaner any faster, well it doesn't sodding work like that, an', an' Jade doesn't need your sodding redemption. She's the clean slate. She's the bloody one that doesn't have to have this sodding blood on her hands. She doesn't need advice from Scourge of the Bloody Europe, because she's just. Sodding. Fine."
Angel just stared at him. Spike had the impression that the wanker was almost amused, but he hid it well. "As I said, seems like you care for her a lot." Angel said. "You used to speak about Buffy like that."
Spike stepped up to him, growling. "Don't compare them. They're not one bit alike."
"You mean you don't care about them the same way." His grandsire answered.
"Bugger off," Spike shot back, about to tell him just what exactly he thought of the whole impromptu counselling session that he both didn't want or didn't need—Angel looking at him like he had him all sized up when there was a bang on the door, and Xander burst through. He looked warily around, as if his single, human eye could cut through the darkness at all.
"Coven got back to us," Xander gulped back a haggard breath. Wasn't the fittest to begin with, and it seemed like he'd ran down to get them. Spike tried to keep the fear from spiking his blood, from writhing around him with its tendrils.
He knew what he wanted Xander to say. Had all the right words picked out.
"We're right, stupid wankers. You're right all along, Spike, and an extremely better looking man than me. Jade's doing just fine, and the whole soul thing? Perfectly where it belongs. No need to worry. Jade'll be here any minute."
That's what he wanted Harris to say. Angel's expression was solemn. Like he could read the sod's mind from the rapid beating of his heart. Like he had some insight. Well they were wrong. They were all wrong. Couldn't be right. The one-eyed git was a pain in Spike's side, but he'd finally prove his use here. He'd settle this all. Put Spike's fears to bed before they had time to gestate further.
"The coven got back to us," Xander said aloud. "They've determined that the split's happened." His single eye landed on Spike. "Her soul and her body are split. In two different places. Buffy wants you guys back in the meeting room so we can decide what happens next."
Spike barely noticed Angel's nod. Barely realised he was coming along with feet made of lead, and that this time, he hadn't argued. Where was his rationalization now? He defended Jade, that's what he did. He stood for her when no-one else did, an' she'd do the same for him.
So why did he follow like a sheep, why'd he feel like the floor had opened up and swallowed him down into it again, like when he'd dragged into that near-hell in Wolfram & Hart's basement? Why couldn't he form a coherent thought, a snarky comeback. Reminding them all how incompetent and idiotic they were? Buggering morons. He should be able to say as much. Instead, he felt his stomach had flipped to the floor, like he was dragging it behind him. He didn't know why. Didn't know why he couldn't say anything, then.
He needed proof, didn't he? He had to wait until it was staring him in the face, then he'd bloody believe it, and he didn't care how much of a pain in an arse that was to everyone else, he refused to cooperate, refused to believe in it. They were wrong. That's what it had to be.
But he couldn't think it with enough vehemence anymore. That little niggling in the back of his head, which he'd covered in anger, it wouldn't stop piercing him. Wouldn't stop taunting him. Taunting him with what he knew all along, and that was why he'd been so bloody angry, because it was his fault. All his fault.
Jade had lost her soul, and it was 'cause he'd left her behind.