Title: An Uncommon Birthday
Author: Glassslipper
Rating: PG
Timeline: AtS Season 5
Disclaimer: The characters in this story belong entirely to Joss Whedon; I own nothing.
An Uncommon Birthday
Part One: Morning
Wesley set his cup of tea on his desk, careful to place it on the coaster. His office at Wolfram & Hart was an English gentleman's dream, full of overstuffed leather chairs, dark wood, and towering bookshelves. There was even a section of rare magical volumes, including books Wes believed to have been missing for hundreds of years. Wes was quite pleased with his office. Certainly it was far easier to concentrate in here than in the main library, which was filled with young lawyers assiduously trying to appear not evil.
Wes' office also provided him with certain privacy, a space where he wouldn't be judged. It seemed to Wes that he had been putting his foot in his mouth all too often lately, especially with Fred. Their relationship had somehow become damaged. Although Wes was determined to mend it, Fred's tendency to babble on about Knox hurt him in ways he didn't care to examine too closely. Wes had taken to stopping by the lab when he thought Fred might be there. At first he had done it out of a morbid curiosity, to see whether there was in fact anything brewing between Fred and the Wolfram scientist. But lately he found that he simply wanted someone to talk to. A few nights ago he and Fred had lingered in the lab long after the other employees had gone home, working on some research on necromancy that Fred wouldn't put aside. She was becoming more and more preoccupied with Spike's situation. Apparently the incorporeal vampire was rapidly losing what substance he had left, and he had confessed to Fred that he was terrified of where he was headed.
Wes wasn't sure what to think about Spike. Historically speaking, the facts were clear: William the Bloody was one of the most dangerous vampires the world had known. Of course, so was Angelus. But more recently Spike had been an ally of the Slayer, during which time he had voluntarily sought out his soul. To Wes' knowledge, Spike was the only vampire to have ever done such a thing. And then there was the destruction of the Hellmouth. Wes believed there must be more to that story than Angel had told them, but even with the limited information they had it was clear Spike had played a pivotal role.
Ignoring the as yet unread research files stacked neatly on his desk, Wesley walked over to the windows, trying to clear his head. Despite the early hour and the heavy drapes, the blazing L.A. sun caused him to squint uncomfortably. This city has no respect for the seasons, he thought. October sun should be subdued, seen only in glimpses through brightly colored leaves and misty afternoons. The bright California glare clashed with Wes' mood. If only the puzzle of Spike's situation could be illuminated with so clear a light.
Realizing that he wasn't going to accomplish anything staring out the window, Wes headed down to the lab to see if Fred had made any further progress. Stepping inside, he passed through the general work area and entered the research war room that had been set aside for work on what they all called the "Spike problem." It had occurred to Wes that it would be more accurate to call it "the Angel problem" since Angel seemed to consider Spike's mere existence problematic, but he didn't think Angel would appreciate his perspective.
"Spike?" Wes asked tentatively, entering the small room. The blond vampire stood in the far corner, arms wrapped tightly about him.
Spike turned to Wes and nodded. "Watcher. Don't suppose you've any good news for me?"
"I'm afraid not." Wes pondered Spike's choice of words. Spike repeatedly insisted on calling him "Watcher," despite the fact that Wes had told him any number of times that the title was no longer accurate. Wes realized that he liked the vampire's habit. Even though Wes had failed miserably as Faith's watcher, Spike used the title with respect. Wes moved closer to Spike, and as he did he noticed that Spike seemed a bit less ghostly. "Has something changed?" Wes asked, puzzled.
"Research girl did some kind of containment spell. It'll hold me here for a while, but she says she can only do it once and it won't last. Bit of a reprieve, anyway." Spike looked up at Wes. "Why is it these spells are so bloody temporary? Why can't she have found a permanent one?" Spike's voice wavered. It seemed to Wesley that he was holding his fear at bay, but just barely. Wes found himself staring at the vampire. Spike's face was so expressive, and so full of pain.
"Fred told me what's happening to you. That you may be fading into hell," Wes said softly.
Spike inhaled quickly and turned away. "Well, that explains why the pouf's been working night and day to help me out," he said sarcastically.
"I'm sorry, Spike," Wes said. "We just haven't been able to give your situation the attention it deserves," Wes couldn't help but grimace as he spoke, realizing the inadequacy of his explanation.
"And why is that, I wonder," Spike said angrily. "Captain Forehead is a little selective when it comes to which helpless he helps, isn't he?" Wes didn't answer, although he found that he agreed with Spike.
Wes could feel the vampire's blue eyes examining him, and he looked up to meet Spike's gaze. Spike's anger seemed to dissipate as he studied the ex-watcher. "You're looking awful gloomy this morning," Spike commented. "What, did everyone forget your birthday?"
"What makes you think it's my birthday?"
"Was inscribed in some book at the Magic Box."
Wes wondered why Spike would remember such a thing. He had an idea. "Happy birthday to you, too."
"Thanks, mate," Spike replied. "But it's not my birthday."
"Then how on earth did you remember the date?" Wes asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.
"Was my mum's birthday." Spike looked up at Wes, his face momentarily open, vulnerable.
Wes was surprised at the warmth in Spike's blue eyes, and the tears gathering there. Doesn't seem much like a vicious demon, does he? His heart went out to him. Was it true, what he had heard, that Spike had been a poet? That he had been a doting son, caring for his ailing mother alone? The image reminded Wes unflatteringly of himself, and Wes suppressed it quickly, changing the subject.
"What were you doing at the Magic Box?" Wes asked.
"Research," Spike answered blandly. When Wes directed a blank stare at him, Spike harrumphed. "What, you think I'm only good for kicking and brawling?"
Wes pondered the image of Spike sitting quietly in the shop, reading dense volumes of demon lore. It was a bit hard for him to imagine, but then he seemed to be missing rather a lot of information concerning Spike's role in Sunnydale. Wes knew the book he must have seen the inscription in: a volume of Emily Dickinson poems his mother had given him for his sixteenth birthday. He remembered the day well, because his father had forgotten it. There had never been much fuss made over his birthdays, but that one was particularly painful. It hadn't been an accident that the book was left in a box for Giles, along with other remnants of his past he had discarded when he set off to be a rogue demon hunter. Wes mentally shook his head at himself. How could he have been so young only such a short time ago?
But even the possibility of Spike helping out didn't explain why Spike would have read Emily Dickinson - not particularly valuable for demon research. Perhaps he really was fond of poetry. Wes looked at the vampire. Spike was walking around and through the lab tables, scanning the books Fred had left open. Wes winced as Spike reached to turn a page but couldn't, his ghostly fingers dipping into the pages instead.
Wes couldn't sort it out. Spike's history contained seemingly irreconcilable extremes of good and evil, tenderness and violence. Where did that leave the vampire now, faced with impending damnation? Surely at one time such a punishment would have been appropriate. Was it still? What right did they have to condemn Spike to hell, whether by action or inaction? "I have to go, Spike." Wes stood up abruptly. He had to think about this, find out more, and he also needed a respite from the emotional roller coaster Spike seemed to generate in him. Surely Angel would have some helpful information about Spike, even if the blond vampire wasn't his favorite topic of conversation.
"Fine then. I'll be counting the minutes 'til your return."
Wes considered that Spike wasn't completely joking. "Spike," Wes waited until Spike looked up, and caught his eyes before continuing. "I will be back. I'm going to talk to Angel. I need more information about you - about your situation - and Angel may be able to help."
"It's a nice thought, but Angel doesn't care if I vanish into hell forever. There's no love lost between us, if you haven't noticed."
Wes had noticed, of course. It wasn't exactly something Angel kept to himself. Angel seemed to need to mention as often as possible that Spike had been a vicious killer. This didn't seem to have much of a point, since the same could be said of Angelus. It was also clear that Angel found the younger vampire to be infuriating. But Wes still didn't understand why Angel seemed to dislike him so vehemently, especially since souled Spike seemed to be more of an asset than a danger.
"Maybe it would help if you could tell me something about why Angel feels this way towards you," Wes suggested. "I get the feeling it isn't just about Buffy."
"No, it's not just Buffy." A tender look flashed across Spike's face. . "Right then. Well, you know Angelus was a mean, nasty bugger, but he also fancied himself an aristocrat. He and Darla liked fancy flats and swank clothes. After they made Dru they treated her like a wealthy child, coddled and protected, dressed in lace and velvet. Never let her have any fun. Everything was all right as long as Angelus was in charge, in control." Spike paused, warming to his tale.
"Then they turned me. And I wasn't much interested in following Angelus' orders. Respectability hadn't got me anywhere. Dru saved me from my pathetic life, and I wanted to enjoy myself. I upset the apple cart, I did, and Angelus didn't like it. You wouldn't believe what came out of his mouth, all worry and strife. Went on and on about how I was puttin' them in danger, 'cause I wouldn't act like a respectable old ninny. Bunch of rampaged villages later, we ran into the gypsies, and that was that." Spike looked at Wes expectantly.
"He was cursed with a soul." Wes stated.
"Well, yes. More importantly, Darla was disgusted and wouldn't have a thing to do with him," Spike said. "No more death and destruction, no more doting Dru and Darla. Just years of broody solitude."
"In retrospect, Angel should be grateful to you, if he really believes you contributed to his being given a soul," Wes argued.
"Oh, come on," Spike replied. "Angelus didn't want a soul. He just wanted his happy little kingdom, his carefree unlife. I bollixed it up, and he'll never forget it."
"It's not as if it was your fault," Wes pointed out.
"You think I don't know that? It's not liked I asked for this. Dru didn't exactly explain herself before she bit me." Spike pulled his leather coat around him. "Well, there it is. Story of my sodding life."
"It sounds like the two of you had quite a complicated relationship. But that was a long time ago. You've both come quite a way since then," Wes hesitated. "Although I suppose your relationship with Buffy might tend to color his opinion of you."
"Yeah, well that's just too bloody bad. Not going to apologize for that, no matter if he lets me rot in hell for it. Best thing that ever happened to me, she is." Spike turned away from Wes, hands clutched tightly on his shoulders.
Wesley drew a deep breath. He was becoming more and more convinced that he and the others were doing Spike a grave disservice by not focusing their efforts on his situation. Even if they couldn't find a way to make him corporeal, at least they had to halt his descent into hell. He was reluctant to place all the blame on Angel, but it certainly seemed as if Angel's feelings towards the old, unsouled Spike might be impeding his ability to consider the present dilemma rationally. "We're all meeting at noon to discuss current business," he said. "I promise you, I will do my best to make your situation a priority." Wes paused. "I simply do not believe that your time has come." Wes left and headed upstairs to the boardroom.
Part Two: Afternoon
Wes entered the boardroom just before noon, and received a formal nod from Angel. Wes had to stifle a smile, thinking of how hard Angel was trying to shape the bunch of them into a more business-like group. This was the first of what were to be weekly meetings of the "executive staff." The e-mail that Angel sent the group had instructed them to "be prepared to discuss the status of each matter to which you were assigned."
The boardroom boasted a long, oval table, capable of seating thirty or more people. Angel was seated at the head. As each person entered, they seated themselves near Angel, leaving a long expanse of shining dark wood stretching towards the buffet.
When everyone was seated, Angel cleared his throat. "Welcome to our first weekly staff meeting. Thank you for coming," he said stiffly. "Let's start with an overview of pending matters. Gunn, why don't you begin," Angel nodded in Gunn's direction.
Gunn looked around, amused. "Does this remind anyone else of an L.A. Law rerun?"
"Oh, I loved that show!" Lorne chuckled. "Thought I would bust a rib when that witch fell down the elevator shaft. You know, a woman in trusts and estates who sang for me yesterday could be her twin. Except I think she really is a witch."
"All right, that's very funny," Angel said impatiently. "But we've got a real law firm here, not prime time entertainment. I thought these meetings could be helpful, you know, make sure we're all in the loop about important cases."
"The meeting is an excellent idea, Angel," Wes began placatingly. "In fact, there is a matter regarding which I wanted to seek your advice."
"There is?" Angel asked, pleased.
Before Wes could continue, there was a quick knock on the door and Harmony burst in. "Boss? Someone's here to see you and they won't wait in the office," Harmony said, clearly upset. "Security really should have called you first."
"Make sure you don't beat this one up, Angel, before you find out if he has an appointment," Gunn teased.
"It's not a him, it's a she," Harmony explained, glancing nervously behind her.
Pushing open the door, Faith slid past Harmony into the boardroom, causing Harmony to let out a little squeak. "Nice place you've got here. Very chic." Faith walked around the table, looking at the assembled group. When she reached Gunn she glanced down at her black leather pants and tank top. "Guess I'm more business casual." Faith reached the head of the table and gave Angel an awkward punch on the shoulder. "How's the good life treating you, big guy?"
Angel looked stunned, and didn't reply. Wes' attention was drawn to the large weapon Faith carried by her side. He wasn't particularly pleased with Faith's dramatic entrance, but thought that must have something to do with it. "Faith, what is that?" Wes asked, trying to keep the disapproval out of his voice.
"Oh, this?" Faith stabbed the scythe towards Wes and pulled it back, trying to make him flinch. She paused, and looked around at the blank faces. "Don't you guys know? This is the big bad killer Willow used to turn the potentials into slayers." No one responded. "You have heard about the Hellmouth collapsing, right?"
"Of course, Faith," said Angel, a little annoyed. "We know about the amulet."
"Well that's something," Faith responded. "Willow would have been pissed if you didn't get that. It's wicked powerful too, you know."
"How is Willow?" asked Fred.
Faith looked at the dark haired girl, momentarily distracted from the conversation. Something on Fred's face made her smile. "Red's good. Single now."
"So why'd you bring that thing here?" Gunn asked, curiously eyeing the weapon.
"Willow asked me to. Thought it was the least I could do, after she spread the wealth and all," Faith explained.
"Faith, do you know how the scythe was used to empower the potentials?" Wes asked, a glimmer of an idea forming in his mind.
"I'm not big on the details, but this isn't just a nifty weapon. It's super old, and it's got mega magic power. Enough to jump-start our weeping Wicca."
Spike stepped through the wall and walked up behind Faith. "It came in handy for skewering ubervamps the old fashioned way, too."
Faith jumped and turned, seeing Spike. "Holy shit! What the hell is going on?"
"Just a staff meeting, I think," Spike replied, smirking.
Faith reached towards Spike, her hand sliding through his arm. "We thought you were dead. What are you -- a ghost or something?"
"Dunno. Won't be here long, though, so no need to worry."
"Does Buffy know?" Faith asked, still staring at the vampire.
"Not unless ol' broody told her, and I'm betting not." Spike glanced at Angel, who looked away.
Wes stood up. "Angel, you did tell Buffy, didn't you?" Wes had assumed that the slayer had been informed as soon as Spike appeared at Wolfram & Hart. In fact, he had wondered why she hadn't come, but had decided that it was between Angel and Buffy. It occurred to him that it was really between Spike and Buffy. Either way, surely Angel would have done the right thing for Buffy's sake, if not for Spike's?
"I was going to, I just haven't done it yet." Angel shifted nervously in his leather chair.
"Oh, this is rich," Faith recovered her balance, beginning to get the feel of the situation. "Man, Angel, Buffy is going to bust your butt when she finds out you didn't tell her."
"I haven't not told her," Angel insisted. "He's not really here, anyway. He comes and goes."
Faith moved closer to Angel, trying to get him to look at her. "Are you kidding me? You think that will help?"
"Really, Angel, I had assumed you had informed Buffy." Wes began.
"Faith, I think Spike's trying to talk to you," Fred interrupted, worried.
Faith turned to see the blond vampire, who at this point was completely translucent. "I can't hear what he's saying." She turned to Angel, angry. "This is fucked. You guys better tell Buffy. She's on some slayer search in Japan, but she's got a cell phone." She looked back at Spike, who was still fading in and out. "Hey, if you can hear me, thanks for saving the world." She paused. "You sure don't deserve this." Spike tilted his head, questioning. "B's doing fine. She misses you." Wesley thought he saw a tear slide down Spike's cheek as the vampire abruptly turned and strode out through the wall.
"I'll let myself out," Faith said, then stopped before she reached the door. "Almost forgot. This is for you." The slayer tossed the scythe to Wesley.
He caught it neatly. "Thank you."
"Willow said you guys would need it. Maybe you're planning on killing off some other champions?" Sending a withering look towards Angel, Faith left the room.
"Goodness gracious," said Lorne. "How's about a seventh inning stretch? Lord knows I could use a cold one. Can we order cocktails?"
"It's not such a big deal," Angel said. "We'll figure it out."
"It is a big deal," Wes interrupted coldly. "You're not taking this seriously. Even Faith believes in Spike. And it seems as if you're willing to let him die to settle a hundred-year-old grievance." Wes paused, waiting for Angel to respond, but was met with silence. He wished Angel would explain himself, would give him some way to understand his callous behavior. But he couldn't wait any longer. "I am going to turn my full attention to saving Spike, and I suggest the rest of us do the same."
"I think Wes has a point, sweetcakes," Lorne said gently to Angel. "Several of them, as a matter of fact," Lorne pointed out, indicating the scythe, which Wes was holding aggressively at his side.
"Fine, whatever," Angel muttered. "But I'm not going to take responsibility for this."
"If you mean you won't take responsibility for Spike, I don't think that's much of an issue, Angel. As a vampire, he sought out a soul and sacrificed himself to save the world. I don't think he needs any more lessons in responsibility from you." Wes looked at the others. "I'm taking the scythe down to the lab. Fred, can you." Wes stopped. "Where's Fred?"
Fred stepped back into the boardroom, panting. "Right here. I had some more questions for Faith. She gave me Willow's phone number and," she looked at Wes, "we've got some work to do."
Part Three: Evening
Fred hung up the phone as Wes entered the lab. She had been talking with Willow for the past few hours, working to adapt the spell that empowered the potentials into one that could bring Spike back into corporeal form. During this time Wes had managed to strengthen the containment spell keeping Spike at the firm, but he feared that it wouldn't last much longer.
"How's it going?" Wes set his books down on the desk. He wondered if Fred knew how awkward he still felt around her, how glad he was to be able to work together with her.
Fred slid off her stool and walked over to Wes. With a tilt of her head, she smiled at him, and then stretched up to give him a light kiss on the cheek. "Happy birthday, Wesley," she said, taking a step back, but maintaining eye contact with the clearly surprised man.
"Fred, oh, um," Wes felt his face flush as an electric tingle rushed through his body. She was just wishing me well, he thought hopelessly. It doesn't mean anything. Wes cleared his throat, struggling to regain his composure. "Thank you. How did you find out it was my birthday?"
"Spike told me. He said that you deserved a 'proper' celebration. I got the feeling he was thinking of beer and English pubs, but I don't even know if there are any pubs around here. I wanted to do something, but with all the scythe-swinging and mystic math to be done, there really wasn't time." Fred chewed her bottom lip. "And I wasn't sure if you would want one, people don't always like parties, and lately you've seemed so, well, down," Fred trailed off, questioning.
Wes took a deep breath. Fred looked genuinely concerned about him. But did she really want to hear about his problems? Lord knows, he would love to have someone to confide in. Not yet. But soon, maybe. "I'm all right," he said, sounding more certain than he felt. Although if he could mend his friendship with Fred, it might even be true. "We could probably all do with a night out."
. "Great! We'll do it. Right after we bring Spike back," Fred went on enthusiastically. "If we want him to come to the party, we better get him corporealized first, huh? Maybe he can be your present," Fred said innocently.
Wes groaned. The girl had no idea what she was saying, or did she? A vision of the three of them walking home together arm in arm after a night of pub-crawling was quickly suppressed. "Speaking of Spike, have you made any progress?" Wes asked.
"Plenty. I think we're there, actually," Fred paused. "There's just one hitch."
"What's that?" asked Wes.
"We're going to need some of Angel's blood."
A few minutes later, the dark haired vampire looked incredulously at Fred and Wes as they explained the situation. "You need my blood to reincarnate Spike?" Angel asked.
"It isn't reincarnation, exactly," Fred started to explain.
"You're out of your minds, all of you. I gave him my blood once - and that was by way of Dru. Look where it got me. Now you want me to do it again?" Angel stomped across his office, halting only when he reached the darkened windows. He thrust his hands in his pockets. "I may still be working on this redemption thing, but I'm pretty clear on the 'don't make any more vampires' part."
"This isn't the same thing," Wes argued. "Spike has a soul now. And you might consider that turning Spike had some positive consequences, albeit unintended. If it wasn't for Spike shaking up your behavior, you might never have been given a soul." Angel glared at Wes, but the ex- watcher continued. "Who knows if Spike would have sought out a soul if he didn't have you as a role model, so to speak? I think we all have to agree that the two of you have done a great deal of good." Wes looked at the door and, seeing Gunn and Lorne, motioned for them to come in.
"Are you saying the world is a better place because Spike and I are in it? I think there are hundreds of corpses out there who would disagree." Angel paced across the room.
"I'm saying that if you believe Spike's actions inadvertently gave you a chance at redemption," Wes paused, "or even if you don't, Spike is deserving of such a chance." Wes realized that he wholeheartedly believed this to be true. Saving Spike now wouldn't guarantee him a reprieve from eventual damnation, but it would give him time to redeem himself. Time he had earned through his sacrifice.
"And besides, Buffy will stake your sorry heart if you fuck this up," Gunn said.
"What, you think I should save Spike so Buffy can have him?" Angel turned his glare on Gunn.
"I think there are worse reasons to save a life. You do still like Buffy, right?"
"You all think I should do this?" Angel looked around at the group. He took a deep breath. "Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you. You won't believe how annoying he can be."
Part Four: Night
It was almost midnight when they finished the spell. With a flash of light and a burst of energy Spike was thrown across the room, where he reassuringly bounced off the wall and landed on the floor. He sat up, gingerly rubbing the side of his head.
"You hit the wall! That's great!" Fred shouted gleefully.
"Yeah, I guess it is," Spike said, tentatively reaching out and poking the desk beside him with a finger. "I think it worked," he said softly.
Wes stepped over to the blond vampire, offering his hand. Spike took it and stood up. Their eyes met, and the two Brits seemed pleased with each other. Still grasping Spike's hand, Wes shook it firmly. "Welcome to Wolfram and Hart, Spike. It seems we do have the same birthday after all."
Author: Glassslipper
Rating: PG
Timeline: AtS Season 5
Disclaimer: The characters in this story belong entirely to Joss Whedon; I own nothing.
An Uncommon Birthday
Part One: Morning
Wesley set his cup of tea on his desk, careful to place it on the coaster. His office at Wolfram & Hart was an English gentleman's dream, full of overstuffed leather chairs, dark wood, and towering bookshelves. There was even a section of rare magical volumes, including books Wes believed to have been missing for hundreds of years. Wes was quite pleased with his office. Certainly it was far easier to concentrate in here than in the main library, which was filled with young lawyers assiduously trying to appear not evil.
Wes' office also provided him with certain privacy, a space where he wouldn't be judged. It seemed to Wes that he had been putting his foot in his mouth all too often lately, especially with Fred. Their relationship had somehow become damaged. Although Wes was determined to mend it, Fred's tendency to babble on about Knox hurt him in ways he didn't care to examine too closely. Wes had taken to stopping by the lab when he thought Fred might be there. At first he had done it out of a morbid curiosity, to see whether there was in fact anything brewing between Fred and the Wolfram scientist. But lately he found that he simply wanted someone to talk to. A few nights ago he and Fred had lingered in the lab long after the other employees had gone home, working on some research on necromancy that Fred wouldn't put aside. She was becoming more and more preoccupied with Spike's situation. Apparently the incorporeal vampire was rapidly losing what substance he had left, and he had confessed to Fred that he was terrified of where he was headed.
Wes wasn't sure what to think about Spike. Historically speaking, the facts were clear: William the Bloody was one of the most dangerous vampires the world had known. Of course, so was Angelus. But more recently Spike had been an ally of the Slayer, during which time he had voluntarily sought out his soul. To Wes' knowledge, Spike was the only vampire to have ever done such a thing. And then there was the destruction of the Hellmouth. Wes believed there must be more to that story than Angel had told them, but even with the limited information they had it was clear Spike had played a pivotal role.
Ignoring the as yet unread research files stacked neatly on his desk, Wesley walked over to the windows, trying to clear his head. Despite the early hour and the heavy drapes, the blazing L.A. sun caused him to squint uncomfortably. This city has no respect for the seasons, he thought. October sun should be subdued, seen only in glimpses through brightly colored leaves and misty afternoons. The bright California glare clashed with Wes' mood. If only the puzzle of Spike's situation could be illuminated with so clear a light.
Realizing that he wasn't going to accomplish anything staring out the window, Wes headed down to the lab to see if Fred had made any further progress. Stepping inside, he passed through the general work area and entered the research war room that had been set aside for work on what they all called the "Spike problem." It had occurred to Wes that it would be more accurate to call it "the Angel problem" since Angel seemed to consider Spike's mere existence problematic, but he didn't think Angel would appreciate his perspective.
"Spike?" Wes asked tentatively, entering the small room. The blond vampire stood in the far corner, arms wrapped tightly about him.
Spike turned to Wes and nodded. "Watcher. Don't suppose you've any good news for me?"
"I'm afraid not." Wes pondered Spike's choice of words. Spike repeatedly insisted on calling him "Watcher," despite the fact that Wes had told him any number of times that the title was no longer accurate. Wes realized that he liked the vampire's habit. Even though Wes had failed miserably as Faith's watcher, Spike used the title with respect. Wes moved closer to Spike, and as he did he noticed that Spike seemed a bit less ghostly. "Has something changed?" Wes asked, puzzled.
"Research girl did some kind of containment spell. It'll hold me here for a while, but she says she can only do it once and it won't last. Bit of a reprieve, anyway." Spike looked up at Wes. "Why is it these spells are so bloody temporary? Why can't she have found a permanent one?" Spike's voice wavered. It seemed to Wesley that he was holding his fear at bay, but just barely. Wes found himself staring at the vampire. Spike's face was so expressive, and so full of pain.
"Fred told me what's happening to you. That you may be fading into hell," Wes said softly.
Spike inhaled quickly and turned away. "Well, that explains why the pouf's been working night and day to help me out," he said sarcastically.
"I'm sorry, Spike," Wes said. "We just haven't been able to give your situation the attention it deserves," Wes couldn't help but grimace as he spoke, realizing the inadequacy of his explanation.
"And why is that, I wonder," Spike said angrily. "Captain Forehead is a little selective when it comes to which helpless he helps, isn't he?" Wes didn't answer, although he found that he agreed with Spike.
Wes could feel the vampire's blue eyes examining him, and he looked up to meet Spike's gaze. Spike's anger seemed to dissipate as he studied the ex-watcher. "You're looking awful gloomy this morning," Spike commented. "What, did everyone forget your birthday?"
"What makes you think it's my birthday?"
"Was inscribed in some book at the Magic Box."
Wes wondered why Spike would remember such a thing. He had an idea. "Happy birthday to you, too."
"Thanks, mate," Spike replied. "But it's not my birthday."
"Then how on earth did you remember the date?" Wes asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.
"Was my mum's birthday." Spike looked up at Wes, his face momentarily open, vulnerable.
Wes was surprised at the warmth in Spike's blue eyes, and the tears gathering there. Doesn't seem much like a vicious demon, does he? His heart went out to him. Was it true, what he had heard, that Spike had been a poet? That he had been a doting son, caring for his ailing mother alone? The image reminded Wes unflatteringly of himself, and Wes suppressed it quickly, changing the subject.
"What were you doing at the Magic Box?" Wes asked.
"Research," Spike answered blandly. When Wes directed a blank stare at him, Spike harrumphed. "What, you think I'm only good for kicking and brawling?"
Wes pondered the image of Spike sitting quietly in the shop, reading dense volumes of demon lore. It was a bit hard for him to imagine, but then he seemed to be missing rather a lot of information concerning Spike's role in Sunnydale. Wes knew the book he must have seen the inscription in: a volume of Emily Dickinson poems his mother had given him for his sixteenth birthday. He remembered the day well, because his father had forgotten it. There had never been much fuss made over his birthdays, but that one was particularly painful. It hadn't been an accident that the book was left in a box for Giles, along with other remnants of his past he had discarded when he set off to be a rogue demon hunter. Wes mentally shook his head at himself. How could he have been so young only such a short time ago?
But even the possibility of Spike helping out didn't explain why Spike would have read Emily Dickinson - not particularly valuable for demon research. Perhaps he really was fond of poetry. Wes looked at the vampire. Spike was walking around and through the lab tables, scanning the books Fred had left open. Wes winced as Spike reached to turn a page but couldn't, his ghostly fingers dipping into the pages instead.
Wes couldn't sort it out. Spike's history contained seemingly irreconcilable extremes of good and evil, tenderness and violence. Where did that leave the vampire now, faced with impending damnation? Surely at one time such a punishment would have been appropriate. Was it still? What right did they have to condemn Spike to hell, whether by action or inaction? "I have to go, Spike." Wes stood up abruptly. He had to think about this, find out more, and he also needed a respite from the emotional roller coaster Spike seemed to generate in him. Surely Angel would have some helpful information about Spike, even if the blond vampire wasn't his favorite topic of conversation.
"Fine then. I'll be counting the minutes 'til your return."
Wes considered that Spike wasn't completely joking. "Spike," Wes waited until Spike looked up, and caught his eyes before continuing. "I will be back. I'm going to talk to Angel. I need more information about you - about your situation - and Angel may be able to help."
"It's a nice thought, but Angel doesn't care if I vanish into hell forever. There's no love lost between us, if you haven't noticed."
Wes had noticed, of course. It wasn't exactly something Angel kept to himself. Angel seemed to need to mention as often as possible that Spike had been a vicious killer. This didn't seem to have much of a point, since the same could be said of Angelus. It was also clear that Angel found the younger vampire to be infuriating. But Wes still didn't understand why Angel seemed to dislike him so vehemently, especially since souled Spike seemed to be more of an asset than a danger.
"Maybe it would help if you could tell me something about why Angel feels this way towards you," Wes suggested. "I get the feeling it isn't just about Buffy."
"No, it's not just Buffy." A tender look flashed across Spike's face. . "Right then. Well, you know Angelus was a mean, nasty bugger, but he also fancied himself an aristocrat. He and Darla liked fancy flats and swank clothes. After they made Dru they treated her like a wealthy child, coddled and protected, dressed in lace and velvet. Never let her have any fun. Everything was all right as long as Angelus was in charge, in control." Spike paused, warming to his tale.
"Then they turned me. And I wasn't much interested in following Angelus' orders. Respectability hadn't got me anywhere. Dru saved me from my pathetic life, and I wanted to enjoy myself. I upset the apple cart, I did, and Angelus didn't like it. You wouldn't believe what came out of his mouth, all worry and strife. Went on and on about how I was puttin' them in danger, 'cause I wouldn't act like a respectable old ninny. Bunch of rampaged villages later, we ran into the gypsies, and that was that." Spike looked at Wes expectantly.
"He was cursed with a soul." Wes stated.
"Well, yes. More importantly, Darla was disgusted and wouldn't have a thing to do with him," Spike said. "No more death and destruction, no more doting Dru and Darla. Just years of broody solitude."
"In retrospect, Angel should be grateful to you, if he really believes you contributed to his being given a soul," Wes argued.
"Oh, come on," Spike replied. "Angelus didn't want a soul. He just wanted his happy little kingdom, his carefree unlife. I bollixed it up, and he'll never forget it."
"It's not as if it was your fault," Wes pointed out.
"You think I don't know that? It's not liked I asked for this. Dru didn't exactly explain herself before she bit me." Spike pulled his leather coat around him. "Well, there it is. Story of my sodding life."
"It sounds like the two of you had quite a complicated relationship. But that was a long time ago. You've both come quite a way since then," Wes hesitated. "Although I suppose your relationship with Buffy might tend to color his opinion of you."
"Yeah, well that's just too bloody bad. Not going to apologize for that, no matter if he lets me rot in hell for it. Best thing that ever happened to me, she is." Spike turned away from Wes, hands clutched tightly on his shoulders.
Wesley drew a deep breath. He was becoming more and more convinced that he and the others were doing Spike a grave disservice by not focusing their efforts on his situation. Even if they couldn't find a way to make him corporeal, at least they had to halt his descent into hell. He was reluctant to place all the blame on Angel, but it certainly seemed as if Angel's feelings towards the old, unsouled Spike might be impeding his ability to consider the present dilemma rationally. "We're all meeting at noon to discuss current business," he said. "I promise you, I will do my best to make your situation a priority." Wes paused. "I simply do not believe that your time has come." Wes left and headed upstairs to the boardroom.
Part Two: Afternoon
Wes entered the boardroom just before noon, and received a formal nod from Angel. Wes had to stifle a smile, thinking of how hard Angel was trying to shape the bunch of them into a more business-like group. This was the first of what were to be weekly meetings of the "executive staff." The e-mail that Angel sent the group had instructed them to "be prepared to discuss the status of each matter to which you were assigned."
The boardroom boasted a long, oval table, capable of seating thirty or more people. Angel was seated at the head. As each person entered, they seated themselves near Angel, leaving a long expanse of shining dark wood stretching towards the buffet.
When everyone was seated, Angel cleared his throat. "Welcome to our first weekly staff meeting. Thank you for coming," he said stiffly. "Let's start with an overview of pending matters. Gunn, why don't you begin," Angel nodded in Gunn's direction.
Gunn looked around, amused. "Does this remind anyone else of an L.A. Law rerun?"
"Oh, I loved that show!" Lorne chuckled. "Thought I would bust a rib when that witch fell down the elevator shaft. You know, a woman in trusts and estates who sang for me yesterday could be her twin. Except I think she really is a witch."
"All right, that's very funny," Angel said impatiently. "But we've got a real law firm here, not prime time entertainment. I thought these meetings could be helpful, you know, make sure we're all in the loop about important cases."
"The meeting is an excellent idea, Angel," Wes began placatingly. "In fact, there is a matter regarding which I wanted to seek your advice."
"There is?" Angel asked, pleased.
Before Wes could continue, there was a quick knock on the door and Harmony burst in. "Boss? Someone's here to see you and they won't wait in the office," Harmony said, clearly upset. "Security really should have called you first."
"Make sure you don't beat this one up, Angel, before you find out if he has an appointment," Gunn teased.
"It's not a him, it's a she," Harmony explained, glancing nervously behind her.
Pushing open the door, Faith slid past Harmony into the boardroom, causing Harmony to let out a little squeak. "Nice place you've got here. Very chic." Faith walked around the table, looking at the assembled group. When she reached Gunn she glanced down at her black leather pants and tank top. "Guess I'm more business casual." Faith reached the head of the table and gave Angel an awkward punch on the shoulder. "How's the good life treating you, big guy?"
Angel looked stunned, and didn't reply. Wes' attention was drawn to the large weapon Faith carried by her side. He wasn't particularly pleased with Faith's dramatic entrance, but thought that must have something to do with it. "Faith, what is that?" Wes asked, trying to keep the disapproval out of his voice.
"Oh, this?" Faith stabbed the scythe towards Wes and pulled it back, trying to make him flinch. She paused, and looked around at the blank faces. "Don't you guys know? This is the big bad killer Willow used to turn the potentials into slayers." No one responded. "You have heard about the Hellmouth collapsing, right?"
"Of course, Faith," said Angel, a little annoyed. "We know about the amulet."
"Well that's something," Faith responded. "Willow would have been pissed if you didn't get that. It's wicked powerful too, you know."
"How is Willow?" asked Fred.
Faith looked at the dark haired girl, momentarily distracted from the conversation. Something on Fred's face made her smile. "Red's good. Single now."
"So why'd you bring that thing here?" Gunn asked, curiously eyeing the weapon.
"Willow asked me to. Thought it was the least I could do, after she spread the wealth and all," Faith explained.
"Faith, do you know how the scythe was used to empower the potentials?" Wes asked, a glimmer of an idea forming in his mind.
"I'm not big on the details, but this isn't just a nifty weapon. It's super old, and it's got mega magic power. Enough to jump-start our weeping Wicca."
Spike stepped through the wall and walked up behind Faith. "It came in handy for skewering ubervamps the old fashioned way, too."
Faith jumped and turned, seeing Spike. "Holy shit! What the hell is going on?"
"Just a staff meeting, I think," Spike replied, smirking.
Faith reached towards Spike, her hand sliding through his arm. "We thought you were dead. What are you -- a ghost or something?"
"Dunno. Won't be here long, though, so no need to worry."
"Does Buffy know?" Faith asked, still staring at the vampire.
"Not unless ol' broody told her, and I'm betting not." Spike glanced at Angel, who looked away.
Wes stood up. "Angel, you did tell Buffy, didn't you?" Wes had assumed that the slayer had been informed as soon as Spike appeared at Wolfram & Hart. In fact, he had wondered why she hadn't come, but had decided that it was between Angel and Buffy. It occurred to him that it was really between Spike and Buffy. Either way, surely Angel would have done the right thing for Buffy's sake, if not for Spike's?
"I was going to, I just haven't done it yet." Angel shifted nervously in his leather chair.
"Oh, this is rich," Faith recovered her balance, beginning to get the feel of the situation. "Man, Angel, Buffy is going to bust your butt when she finds out you didn't tell her."
"I haven't not told her," Angel insisted. "He's not really here, anyway. He comes and goes."
Faith moved closer to Angel, trying to get him to look at her. "Are you kidding me? You think that will help?"
"Really, Angel, I had assumed you had informed Buffy." Wes began.
"Faith, I think Spike's trying to talk to you," Fred interrupted, worried.
Faith turned to see the blond vampire, who at this point was completely translucent. "I can't hear what he's saying." She turned to Angel, angry. "This is fucked. You guys better tell Buffy. She's on some slayer search in Japan, but she's got a cell phone." She looked back at Spike, who was still fading in and out. "Hey, if you can hear me, thanks for saving the world." She paused. "You sure don't deserve this." Spike tilted his head, questioning. "B's doing fine. She misses you." Wesley thought he saw a tear slide down Spike's cheek as the vampire abruptly turned and strode out through the wall.
"I'll let myself out," Faith said, then stopped before she reached the door. "Almost forgot. This is for you." The slayer tossed the scythe to Wesley.
He caught it neatly. "Thank you."
"Willow said you guys would need it. Maybe you're planning on killing off some other champions?" Sending a withering look towards Angel, Faith left the room.
"Goodness gracious," said Lorne. "How's about a seventh inning stretch? Lord knows I could use a cold one. Can we order cocktails?"
"It's not such a big deal," Angel said. "We'll figure it out."
"It is a big deal," Wes interrupted coldly. "You're not taking this seriously. Even Faith believes in Spike. And it seems as if you're willing to let him die to settle a hundred-year-old grievance." Wes paused, waiting for Angel to respond, but was met with silence. He wished Angel would explain himself, would give him some way to understand his callous behavior. But he couldn't wait any longer. "I am going to turn my full attention to saving Spike, and I suggest the rest of us do the same."
"I think Wes has a point, sweetcakes," Lorne said gently to Angel. "Several of them, as a matter of fact," Lorne pointed out, indicating the scythe, which Wes was holding aggressively at his side.
"Fine, whatever," Angel muttered. "But I'm not going to take responsibility for this."
"If you mean you won't take responsibility for Spike, I don't think that's much of an issue, Angel. As a vampire, he sought out a soul and sacrificed himself to save the world. I don't think he needs any more lessons in responsibility from you." Wes looked at the others. "I'm taking the scythe down to the lab. Fred, can you." Wes stopped. "Where's Fred?"
Fred stepped back into the boardroom, panting. "Right here. I had some more questions for Faith. She gave me Willow's phone number and," she looked at Wes, "we've got some work to do."
Part Three: Evening
Fred hung up the phone as Wes entered the lab. She had been talking with Willow for the past few hours, working to adapt the spell that empowered the potentials into one that could bring Spike back into corporeal form. During this time Wes had managed to strengthen the containment spell keeping Spike at the firm, but he feared that it wouldn't last much longer.
"How's it going?" Wes set his books down on the desk. He wondered if Fred knew how awkward he still felt around her, how glad he was to be able to work together with her.
Fred slid off her stool and walked over to Wes. With a tilt of her head, she smiled at him, and then stretched up to give him a light kiss on the cheek. "Happy birthday, Wesley," she said, taking a step back, but maintaining eye contact with the clearly surprised man.
"Fred, oh, um," Wes felt his face flush as an electric tingle rushed through his body. She was just wishing me well, he thought hopelessly. It doesn't mean anything. Wes cleared his throat, struggling to regain his composure. "Thank you. How did you find out it was my birthday?"
"Spike told me. He said that you deserved a 'proper' celebration. I got the feeling he was thinking of beer and English pubs, but I don't even know if there are any pubs around here. I wanted to do something, but with all the scythe-swinging and mystic math to be done, there really wasn't time." Fred chewed her bottom lip. "And I wasn't sure if you would want one, people don't always like parties, and lately you've seemed so, well, down," Fred trailed off, questioning.
Wes took a deep breath. Fred looked genuinely concerned about him. But did she really want to hear about his problems? Lord knows, he would love to have someone to confide in. Not yet. But soon, maybe. "I'm all right," he said, sounding more certain than he felt. Although if he could mend his friendship with Fred, it might even be true. "We could probably all do with a night out."
. "Great! We'll do it. Right after we bring Spike back," Fred went on enthusiastically. "If we want him to come to the party, we better get him corporealized first, huh? Maybe he can be your present," Fred said innocently.
Wes groaned. The girl had no idea what she was saying, or did she? A vision of the three of them walking home together arm in arm after a night of pub-crawling was quickly suppressed. "Speaking of Spike, have you made any progress?" Wes asked.
"Plenty. I think we're there, actually," Fred paused. "There's just one hitch."
"What's that?" asked Wes.
"We're going to need some of Angel's blood."
A few minutes later, the dark haired vampire looked incredulously at Fred and Wes as they explained the situation. "You need my blood to reincarnate Spike?" Angel asked.
"It isn't reincarnation, exactly," Fred started to explain.
"You're out of your minds, all of you. I gave him my blood once - and that was by way of Dru. Look where it got me. Now you want me to do it again?" Angel stomped across his office, halting only when he reached the darkened windows. He thrust his hands in his pockets. "I may still be working on this redemption thing, but I'm pretty clear on the 'don't make any more vampires' part."
"This isn't the same thing," Wes argued. "Spike has a soul now. And you might consider that turning Spike had some positive consequences, albeit unintended. If it wasn't for Spike shaking up your behavior, you might never have been given a soul." Angel glared at Wes, but the ex- watcher continued. "Who knows if Spike would have sought out a soul if he didn't have you as a role model, so to speak? I think we all have to agree that the two of you have done a great deal of good." Wes looked at the door and, seeing Gunn and Lorne, motioned for them to come in.
"Are you saying the world is a better place because Spike and I are in it? I think there are hundreds of corpses out there who would disagree." Angel paced across the room.
"I'm saying that if you believe Spike's actions inadvertently gave you a chance at redemption," Wes paused, "or even if you don't, Spike is deserving of such a chance." Wes realized that he wholeheartedly believed this to be true. Saving Spike now wouldn't guarantee him a reprieve from eventual damnation, but it would give him time to redeem himself. Time he had earned through his sacrifice.
"And besides, Buffy will stake your sorry heart if you fuck this up," Gunn said.
"What, you think I should save Spike so Buffy can have him?" Angel turned his glare on Gunn.
"I think there are worse reasons to save a life. You do still like Buffy, right?"
"You all think I should do this?" Angel looked around at the group. He took a deep breath. "Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you. You won't believe how annoying he can be."
Part Four: Night
It was almost midnight when they finished the spell. With a flash of light and a burst of energy Spike was thrown across the room, where he reassuringly bounced off the wall and landed on the floor. He sat up, gingerly rubbing the side of his head.
"You hit the wall! That's great!" Fred shouted gleefully.
"Yeah, I guess it is," Spike said, tentatively reaching out and poking the desk beside him with a finger. "I think it worked," he said softly.
Wes stepped over to the blond vampire, offering his hand. Spike took it and stood up. Their eyes met, and the two Brits seemed pleased with each other. Still grasping Spike's hand, Wes shook it firmly. "Welcome to Wolfram and Hart, Spike. It seems we do have the same birthday after all."