A Serendipitous Beginning
by
Lisa Y. Drexel
Chapter Four
~~~~~
And so it begins...
~~~~~
Willow barely managed to remain standing long enough for the door to close. Her knees buckled as the pain of the evening crashed down on her.
Random scenes of the night flashed through her mind: Angel and her in bed, wrapped tightly in one another's arms as each of them reveled in the wonder of their love; the pillow fight—Willow won only because she used magic, but her defense to her sputtering lover was she needed all the help she could get; dinner—Angel sipping his, Willow gorging on hers, Angel teasing her about her appetite—Willow playfully retorting that she had to keep up her strength if she wanted to keep up with him; the Bronze—as she talked of the Sphinx and the pyramids, barely able to contain her happiness and love all the while feeling her lover's eyes on her—soaking in appearance—almost as if he was memorizing it for future reference; Cordelia's news—whispered conspiratorially to Buffy, Amy and her while the four of them went to the restroom—she was pregnant.
Willow felt a pang of remorse, knowing that she could never have children with Angel, but knew there were ways around that.
"Oh Goddess," she moaned outloud, as she pulled her legs up and hugged them tightly to her chest. As she rocked back on forth on the floor, she remembered: Immortals were infertile—she could never carry a child herself.
And then the air changed around them. Angel, Spike and Buffy stood up and Willow glanced at Amy and pointed to Cordelia. Together they wove a powerful protection spell around the former prom Queen, guaranteeing her and the life inside of her, safety.
The horrible cracking noise of Buffy's head connecting to the brick wall.
The soul-wrenching scream of Angel's.
And the evil laugh of Angelus' as he raked his claws down her chest and then punched her—damaging her heart.
The last thing Willow heard before she slipped into unconsciousness was Cordelia's scream: "Angel! Don't! Oh God, please don't!"
And then she woke up here, in Spike and Buffy's home, in a tee-shirt, with Cordelia and Amy hovering over her.
"Angel, I miss you," she whispered into the air as stared at the floor. "I miss your cool hands as they hold me and tell me everything will be alright. I miss your laugh—your gentleness—your love—and how when you're around, everything feels like it should..."
She shut her eyes, biting her bottom lip, relishing in the self-induced pain. "And Buffy—I could use some pointers, ya know? In 50 words or less, how to deal with Angelus. Gods, I'm so scared. I don't know how to use a sword. I don't want to live forever if I can't have him by me. I already feel like I lost something I'll never be able to get back—your love and loyalty and friendship. And Spike, you should see him. It's taking everything out of him just not to collapse. He's worse now than he was when Mike left. At least she was still alive—he could feel her presence if he chose to. I don't think he's ever lost anyone he's loved before—at least not as a vampire. "
Her voice drifted off, as she remembered the shaking of his body as he told her about Angel and Buffy. *He's devastated,* she thought to herself. *And yet he came in here to help you...*
Willow unwrapped her arms around stretched out on the floor, studying her long legs.
Immortal.
She bent over and studied a scar on her knee, remembering the bike accident she had when she got it; she had been with Xander and Jesse and they were going to the movies—to see the matinee showing of Rocketman. They were eleven years old and inseparable. Even then, Willow believed that with Xander and Jesse around, she was complete. Her best friends. Although she knew that it was unusual that she hadn't any girlfriends like Cordelia or Amy had, she didn't care. Jesse and Xander were all she ever needed: they were loyal, caring, fun and since they had met in kindergarten, they were the three musketeers.
*Except that I was a girl,* Willow added ruefully.
But they didn't seem to care. Both of them took care of her, like big brother's would of their sister, showing her with their actions, that they loved her. Something that had always been seriously lacking at her own home.
She shook her head. Adopted. "That explains it," she said outloud. "I was a whim and once they got me—they didn't know what to do with me."
Her finger rubbed the edge of the scar thoughtfully. "No more scars—at least the physical kind."
She slapped her hands on her thighs and stood up. "If Spike can keep it together, then so can I," she said as she reached down and picked up the previously discarded pair of sweat pants. "It's the least I can do for Buffy. He needs someone to take care of him until Mike gets here."
If it were possible, she would have sworn she felt a nod of approval coming from her best friend. "Thanks Buffy, I needed that," Willow whispered into the air.
~~~
Vachon shifted Mike's lifeless body in his arms and sighed. *What a crazy, fucked up mess,* he thought to himself, as he flashed upon on the influx of images that were passed to him with the intake of her blood.
If there had been any other way to guarantee him making it to Sunnydale that evening, he would've avoided drinking from her. Her link with Spike was in full force and for a second, he felt a flash of red hot anger from the other vampire, as if Vachon were encroaching on the blond vampire's property.
Well, in a way he was.
But as quick as the anger had been present, it dissipated. Vachon heard Mike send a calming message to Spike, explaining why it was necessary. Vachon decided to add his two cents worth and apologized as well.
The other vampire conceded but Vachon felt his restlessness—his need to claim what was his—despite the emotionally pain he was so obviously suffering.
Or maybe it was because of that same pain.
Vachon knew what it was like to lose a mortal love. Even though he hadn't been there when Tracy had died, the anger and helplessness was still there. And Vachon had instinctively searched for those who were blood bound to him, to burrow in the safety of the ties that were timeless and for ever.
Unfortunately for him, he had no one left then.
And now he had Mike and all the baggage that came with her.
"Lucky me," he whispered to himself with more than a little sarcasm. He bent his head and gently pressed his lips on Mike's forehead. "Yeah, lucky me."
~~~
It wasn't until Willow had dressed and combed her hair, did she realize she was feeling a strange sort of need and desire—that didn't seem to be a part of her, yet did. Focusing inward and using Wiccan techniques of meditation and self-protection she had learned long ago, she quickly zeroed in on spot inside of her where they were coming from.
She gasped outloud.
It was what she had dubbed seven years ago, as her 'Angel' spot.
Not long after performing the restoration spell on Angel, she began to have nightmares filled with pain and agony, heat and Hell, with Angel in the leading roll.
It was those dreams that prompted her to investigate the possibility he was still alive, so to speak, and in Hell.
She never understood their link; it wasn't as elaborate as Spike's and Mike's; they couldn't read each other's thoughts, feel one another's exact feelings or experience each other's experiences.
It wasn't even one of a typical vampire and its kept human.
No, Angel's (and Angelus', she added ruefully) and hers connection was one of proximity, subtleties and impressions. Shadowy intentions and obscure thoughts that swirled about her heart, mind and soul—nudging her into just 'knowing' what his plans were—or visa versa.
And it was all because of the curse. She restored his soul and now, as long as she lived, they were bound in a sick, symbiotic link of want.
"How?" she asked herself as she sank down on the bed. "I thought it was our souls that were linked..." she whispered quietly as she closed her eyes and concentrated on it.
Anger. Need. Desire. Hatred. Blood. Death. Desire. Lust. Passion.
"Oh Goddess, I'm linked to him too!"
Horror filled her as he curled up tightly in a ball while her body shuddered in response.
Why Angelus too?
Gods, she despised Angel's demon half. She hated its viciousness and lust for cruelty and pain. It was almost as if the demon relished in destroying and mocking all the things his souled half held dear to him.
But it was enticing too, she had to admit. The chance to know your enemy. She uncurled her body and closed her eyes, once again focusing on him—the demon. Maybe this way, she would be able to figure out his next move.
Save her friends.
And keep her head.
~~~
All it took was a glance into his bedroom, and whatever control Spike had over his fragile emotions, was lost.
He slipped into his bedroom, and shut the door behind himself, and fell back against it. Scattered images and memories flooded him, from the first time Mike and he christened their new bed to the night she told him she was leaving him.
And then quickly following those, came all those time with Buffy.
The Slayer and he made love the first time in this bed as well.
They fought and screamed in this room, laughed, joked and traded stories about their friends and experiences in this room.
Spike's 'first mini-Quickening' as he dubbed it, was also experienced in here.
He remembered when Buffy performed the uninvite spell, to keep Angel from appearing in his home announced, right on this bed, with him beside her, lighting those horrid herbs.
He slid down the door as a sob wracked his lean frame.
He knew it was going to hurt—losing her.
He just had no idea it was going to hurt this badly.
Angrily, he wiped his face and stood up. *I don't bloody have time for this,* he thought to himself as he opened the door. *Later, I'll do this later...*
He stepped back into the hallway and nearly walked right into Amy.
She held out her hands to catch him, giving him a small smile. "Okay?"
He nodded as he closed his bedroom door. "Can I get you something, pet?"
He was surprised to hear his voice working so well.
Amy's earnest face looked up at him. "How is she?"
He rubbed his tired face and sighed. "Confused—angry. And determined to save Peaches."
Amy nodded, obviously not surprised. "But not until she trains, right? I mean, if Dru's really here, that means that other jerk may be around—"
"Morden?" he asked, not shocked to feel the familiar clenching of his gut everytime he thought of that Immortal pillock.
"Yeah, that's him. Isn't he Immortal?"
Spike nodded. "Richie, Mike and Vachon are on their way down right now. I doubt if she'll get much say-so as to when she confronts Angelus with them around."
"Hey Spike! Do you have any food around here?" Xander asked, sticking his head into the hallway from the kitchen.
"Whatcha see is what we got. Buffy hadn't gotten—" he broke off, realizing what he was saying. "Shit!"
Amy squeezed his arm. "I'll take care of it," she said and turned to Xander. "What do you want, Xan?"
"Not for me. It's for Cordy and Willow. I remembered how hungry Mike and Richie were everytime after they revived and Cordy, well..."
Spike found his interest peeked, despite himself. Delia eating at this hour? Never. And suddenly, his mind flashed back to when they were at the Bronze. Her heart beat—her heart beats...
Spike shook his head in wonder. "Son-of-a-bitch—Xander is going to be a papa," he whispered to himself. He didn't even get a chance to feel the wonder, when the enormity of their situation crashed down on top of him. Never before had he felt so alone and so desperate to keep a handful of mortals alive as he did at that moment. For Delia and Xander—Joyce and Giles and Oz and Amy.
He needed them to live.
For his sanity.
For his heart.
~~~
Trance-like, Willow stared out the window into the darkness, searching for him.
Waiting.
She could feel him getting closer. His glee and elation...
Her mind swirled. Glee? What would he be happy about?
And then it hit her.
He knew.
He knew where they were.
He was coming.
She shot out of bed and ran to the door, yanking it open. Spotting Spike in the hallway, she called for him.
"He's coming! I can feel it. Spike, he knows where we all are! He'll burn us out!"
"Shit! Are you sure, Will?"
She nodded, trying to ignore the rapid beating of her heart. The fear as it seeped into her bones.
He grabbed her arm and pulled her as he went into the kitchen.
~~~
As they entered the kitchen, he stopped.
There stood all of them. Every mortal he's ever cared for in the 200 years since he's been a vampire.
Every mortal that Angel loved.
"Bloody hell, why didn't I think of that?"
"Think of what?" Joyce asked, looking up from a plate she was filling with a variety of foods. "Willow honey, this is yours," she said as she handed a dazed Willow a plate of food.
Willow took the plate with a blank look on her face. "Th-thanks Joyce. But—not—not now."
"Rupert, there's a weapon's chest in our bedroom. Get it. The fucking pillock plans on burning us out." He dropped Willow's arm as he began to pace. "I don't know why I didn't think of it myself. He knows that I would insist that everyone come here tonight." Spike shook his head, silently berating himself. "Amy, can you teleport Joyce and Delia out of here? Even if it's just next door? The wanker's probably asleep and as deaf as a bloody doornail—"
"I can. One at a time."
"Do it! Start with Delia and Joyce."
Giles returned with the weapon's chest. "I don't know why I didn't think about it myself. It's just the last time, he was so busy reveling in his demon, he didn't bother us for a few days."
Xander grabbed a crossbow and a handful of arrows and stuffed a cross in his jacket. He turned to Cordelia and Amy and leaned over and kissed his wife good-bye. Seconds later she disappeared just as Joyce had done minutes before.
Spike turned to Willow, silently asking her to go.
"No," she said, shaking her head. She walked over and grabbed the other crossbow. "He can sense me. I need to stay here."
Spike nodded and silently urged Mike and Vachon to hurry.
He didn't want to lose anyone else that night.
~~~
Angelus didn't disappoint them.
Willow was the first to feel them.
She sucked in a deep breath and grabbed her head, moaning. "What the hell?"
Spike leaned over and pulled her hands away from her face. "Willow—it's Morden. You're feeling an Immortal."
She glanced up, her green shining with tears. "Morden too?"
He nodded and squeezed her hand. "Sorry luv, it's the Hellmouth."
Biting her lip, she nodded. "I'm okay, Spike." She stood up and grabbed the crossbow. "I'm ready."
"Is the spell holding?" Oz asked Amy, watching her close her eyes in concentration.
"Yep. And as long as no one attacks us magically, it should hold."
"Good," Spike said, issuing a silent prayer to the gods for giving this group not just one, but two witches. As long as the protection spell held, there would be no fires in or around his home that night. He turned to Giles. "I'm going upstairs to the attic, and slip out there."
"Sounds good," the watcher said. "Spike," he called out, grabbing the vampire's arm. "Be careful. I'm sure he hates you even more than before."
Spike nodded and took off down the hallway and pulled on the attic door, causing it to come down, complete with steps.
As he climbed the steps, he off handedly noted the dust and realized he hadn't been up here since packing away Mike's things. And that was over six years ago.
When she had gone to St. Louis, she left boxes filled with books and other knick-knacks that she had inherited from her father. She knew he would take care of them and considering this was her only real home, he didn't mind.
Shaking his head, he quickly reached the window and with a just a bit of juggling, opened it and pushed himself out and into the air. Floating nearly 50 feet above the ground, he easily spotted the dozen or so demon-vamps that were splashing gasoline onto his house.
Instantly his fangs emerged and he issued a soft growl.
Those bloody pillock's. Burning down my home.
Then he saw Angelus, standing off to the side, with an evil grin on his face.
Spike quickly listened for a heartbeat and turned in the air in time to see Morden picking up a rock and aiming it for that blasted picture window.
Without thought, he swooped down and scooped the rock out the air before it could hit the window and threw it at the Immortal with vampiric strength.
The Immortal died instantly.
"Enough of this shit," he thought to himself as he flew over to Angelus.
It wasn't until he was nearly on top of his sire, did the demon-vamp look up instead of around. By that time, Spike was standing in front of him.
"What the bloody hell do you want, prick?" he asked calmly, as he lit a cigarette.
If Spike hadn't known Angelus so well, he wouldn't have caught the flash of surprise in his eyes. Taking a bit of comfort from that, he began circling the demon-vamp.
"I mean—you're back. You don't have your soul and you know you can't be cursed again, so what the hell do you want?" He stopped standing directly in front of him.
Angelus tipped his head, grinning at Spike. "Spike, my boy, how the hell are you?" He slapped the vampire on the back in a mock greeting. "Oh wait, Buff died tonight. I'm sorry." He said with fake sympathy.
Spike said nothing, smoking silently, with his human face still intact.
"Ah come on, my childe, don't you have anything to say to your papa?"
Rage filled him. Careful to keep his face neutral, he tossed his cigarette aside and moved in even closer to Angelus. "I am not your childe, Angelus. Not anymore."
Angelus smiled as he lifted his hand and gently touched cupped Spike's face. "No, I guess you aren't. are you?" His grip tightened. "You're that Immortal whore's childe. But don't forget your first sire, my boy. I made you and I can destroy you."
Willing his eyes back to normal, Spike shook his head, yanking it out the other vampire's grasp. "Maybe, maybe not." He stepped back and shrugged, noting movement to his left. "Druscilla, is that you trying to sneak up on me?"
The dark-haired vampiress stepped out of the shadows. "Hello, my Spike. Miss Edith tells me you are sad tonight. Are you sad?" she asked, touching his cheek.
Rolling his eyes, he shrugged her hand off. "I don't know why the bloody hell Miss Edith give's a rat's ass about my emotional state. Do you, Dru?"
"He's angry, my Angel. Are you sure we can't get my Spike back? Like I got my daddy back?"
Angelus wrapped his arm around Dru all the while his eyes still glued to Spike's. "I don't think so, Dru—"
"Master!" a vampire called out, running over to the three. "The fire won't catch."
Spike chuckled softly. "Another time, maybe? When you think about your plan of attack better."
Angelus growled softly, and turned to Spike, his demonic features flashing in the moonlight. "My childe, I want Willow. Tell her, one way or another, we'll be back for her head."
Spike shook his head in disgust. "Like a bloody broken record. Different words, same damn tune. Why the hell are you so afraid of her, Angelus? They're all over the place. Who's to say you aren't going to play with another Immortal and become hooked on them? Might as well get down with the one you know."
Before Spike could react, Angelus was in his face. "Let's get one thing straight, okay? In no way shape or form is that damn soul coming back to this body. It's mine. Not his. He gave up rights to it over 250 years ago and it's about time someone somewhere realizes it!" He started to turn away, but stopped and swung back around with his fist.
Spike stumbled backwards, reeling from the contact. Wiping the blood off his mouth, he grinned back at Angelus. "Let me tell you something, dear ole daddy. Show your face here again and Willow be damned, you'll fit in my dustbuster before you can say, 'hello.'" He turned to Druscilla. "And the same goes for you, pet—nothing's changed in the past seven years. If you value your unlife, leave." He was about to leave when he felt a familiar heartbeat. "Oh and tell Morden, if this is another rouse to get to Mike, he can kiss his head good-bye. Rumor has it, she's a bit more adept at the sword since the last time he faced her."
Shaking his head in disgust. "I've had enough of the lot of you. Get the fuck out of here," he said, rising into the air. He quickly flew to the top of his house, and stood there, watching as Dru ran over to Morden and helped him up, all the while cooing insanely in his ear. For just a moment, he actually felt a pang of sympathy for the Immortal, but quickly shrugged it off. "Better him than me," he muttered to himself as he watched the impromptu attack force disappear into the shadows. Minutes later, he no longer felt any of their presence.
Mission accomplished.
But he couldn't help but wonder what the hell it was all about. It wasn't like Angelus to give up so easily.
Shrugging his shoulders, he slipped inside the attic window and returned to his friends.
~~~~~~~~~~
to be continued in Chapter Five - Even Sad Reunions Can Be Good