She wants Angel. For a hundred years. Oh God.
We're stunned with the news Sloan's just handed us. I look at Angel. He's not honored…he's not even stunned. He's pissed.
"She wants me?" he growls.
Sloan nods gravely. "The formal invitation will be delivered to you soon."
"You mean the formal orders…summons. I'm not going," Angel says, rage filling his voice.
Sloan nods. "I had a feeling you wouldn't like this."
Angel glares at him, a vein popping up on his forehead. "No, I don't." My God…he's so angry…worse than I've ever seen him.
Xander steps up. "So, can't you refuse?"
"It's never been done," Giles says. "Angel's right, this isn't really an invitation. It's more of an order…a demand. She won't be pleased."
"I couldn't care less if she's displeased," Angel spits out. "I'm not going."
Everyone else just stands around. We don't know what to say. Spike coughs. "He doesn't want to go, he doesn't go. Simple as that."
I stare at Spike. "Right."
"Well," Giles says. "Right."
Sloan's not happy either. "Can she force him to go?" he asks Giles.
Giles turns to my Watcher. "I really don't know. I suppose she can. It will be…interesting to see how she takes this news."
"The Council be damned," Angel says. "They've interfered enough in our lives. This is my life, my choice. I'm not going, and we're done discussing it." He shoves off the counter he's leaning against and crosses to the front window.
Willow breaks in, trying to keep the peace. "Who's coming to give Angel the invitation? The Council?" she asks Sloan.
He nods. "They should be here tonight, tomorrow at the latest. They were already in LA, but discovered that Angel was here."
Angel turns back to us. "Cordy tried to tell me something on the phone," Angel says softly, remembering the earlier phone call. "Damn," he says again, under his breath.
"Look," Spike says, walking up to Angel. "He's made up his mind. I'd like to see the wankers the Council sends try to take him. Not with all of us around."
"No one in tweed touches you," I tell him, trying to get a smile from him. It doesn't work, but I'm not surprised.
"Let's go patrol," Angel says, grabbing his coat even though it's no where near cold outside. He crosses to the front door and exits. Spike and I glance at each other, then at the rest.
"Willow…the spell?" I ask, heading for the door.
She nods. "Don't worry, Tara and I will get it done."
I nod at her and Spike and I hurry after Angel. When we catch up with him, he's muttering to himself. "One hundred years of servitude…what else am I supposed to give them? It's never enough…and I'm just expected to drop what I'm doing and go…"
"Angel," I say, walking next to him.
"Not now, Faith," he snarls at me.
I recoil. "Sorry," I say and stop in my tracks. Fine…he doesn't want me with him, that's cool. Whatever.
He turns around and faces me. "Please…just not now. I need…to think."
Ok…that's better. I nod. "Sure…go. Spike and I'll take care of things."
He cods, curtly, glances at Spike for confirmation, and vanishes.
Spike lights a cigarette. "So…patrol?" he asks between puffs.
I cough at the smoke that's found its way to me. "Yeah…but we gotta get you a Patch."
He laughs. "Right…well…seeing as how I'm already dead, cancer's never been a big scare for me."
I raise my eyebrows. "Hadn't thought of it that way. Guess that's one advantage to being the walking-dead."
"There are a few," Spike grins, and we start walking.
"They can't take him," I say a few minutes later as we start our rounds in a cemetery. I missed going to B's grave last night. I have to see her tonight.
Spike glances at me. "We'll see. The vamp-god, she's legend among vampires too. She's one bad-ass chick I hope I never have to deal with."
"Why would anyone want to serve her?" I ask, kicking a rock.
Spike sighs. "It's, as legend tells it, the stuff dreams are made of. You're privy to all kinds of insider info…lots of perks, daily competitions…and pretty much everything you could want. Wine, women, song…"
"But you're her slave for a hundred years, do people just over look that little fact?"
He stops and puts his hands on his shoulders. "You have to understand. Slayers? They're not so different from true warriors. They're supposed to be alone. To be called to her court guarantees a Lifestyle of the Rich and Famous existence. More than you can imagine. And in the end…if you make it through the one hundred years…you're free, but you get to keep that lifestyle."
"But you're over a hundred years old…what fun is that?"
He smiles knowingly, gazing into my eyes. "Ah, but there's the catch. You don't age; not that Angel would anyway. You're the same when you're released."
"And everyone you've ever known is gone…oh…right, warriors are supposed to be alone," I say, catching myself.
"Right," he says, removing his arms from my shoulders. "But Angel's not."
"They'll want him to leave her again…if we can get her back…for a hundred years. She'll be gone by then…so will all of us…except maybe for you," I say, as we start walking again.
"Yeah, you will." I note a trace of sadness in his voice. I glance at him.
"You loved her a lot, didn't you?" I ask.
He looks surprised. "Yeah, I did."
Now I'm surprised. I expected him to be a least a little defensive. "Did she know?"
"Yeah, she did."
"But…"
He sighs. "But."
We walk in silence for a while. "She was lucky," I say softly. He glances at me.
"Meaning?"
"She had a lot of people who cared about her," I say…not really sure why.
"You do too."
I almost laugh. "Who?"
"The new Watcher…Angel. And I don't mind you," Spike says.
I don't know what to say. This conversation has started making me uncomfortable and I'm wishing I'd never brought it up. Luckily, we come across something to take my mind off things…a pair of demons, straight ahead.
"Heads up," I say and take off.
These guys are seriously gross, I decide when I get closer. They're purple, to start with…not Barney purple…pukey purple. And…kinda blobby. But, two arms, two legs each, and lotsa sharp looking teeth, plus a mean looking spear coming out the top of their heads. Spike's right behind me and we attack together. Rounding on one of them I move to kick, only to connect solidly with the beast. It does nothing. And I mean, nothing. The thing just stands there, looking at me, then growls and grabs my arm. Thinking quick I headbutt it, ewwww…slimy suckers, too. Again, nothing. They're too strong. It's got me, chest to chest now, holding me in a rib-cracking bear hug. Looking up I grab the spear in its head and pull. It breaks off, surprisingly easy, and I jam it in the demon's back. It lets out this god-awful high-pitched scream, we're talking calling-dogs kinda scream, and drops me to the ground. I tumble and roll, jumping back to my feet.
Throwing Spike a glance I notice he's not doing much better. "Spike! The horn!" I yell to him, and as he glances over at me, the demon he's fighting throws him backwards, over a crypt. I don't see him land, but I hear the crunch. Forget the demons…I run to him.
"You okay?" I ask, trying to help him up, then I notice that he's landed on a piece of old fencing…some of a piece of re-bar is jutting out through his thigh.
He groans. "Yeah…dandy," he says, struggling to his feet, wincing at the pain.
"We're gone, come on," I tell him, and start pulling him down the street. "We'll get them later, when we've got weapons."
Spike moans again. "Yeah, like a grenade launcher." As quickly as we can we run to the safety of my apartment. I burst through the door, but Spike lingers, clutching his leg.
"Come in!" I tell him and he does, falling on to the bed.
"Oh GOD!" he wails.
"Come on…we gotta get you fixed up. Bonus of living in a Watcher supplied pad…first aid kit comes standard," I tell him, pulling it out from the closet. Dumping it on the bed, bandages and gauze fly everywhere. I look up at him. "Um…I think you're gonna need to lose the pants, bud."
He stares at me for a second, then nods. "Sure, right. A little help?" he asks, indicating the re-bar.
I nod and cross to him, placing a hand flat on his leg, gripping the re-bar with the other. "Hold still," I tell him, and yank. He lets out a horrible yell. Sweat's beading on his forehead. I notice the little scar on his eyebrow. It's kinda sexy…I tell him that.
He raises the eyebrow. "Yeah? First it's take off the pants, now my scar's all sexy…" he tries to joke, but I can see he's hurting.
He unbuttons his pants and I help him pull them down, for the first time in my life feeling embarrassed, even though Spike doesn't seem to care.
He's wearing boxer shorts with monkeys on them.
I'm so stunned…it's just not what I was expecting. I can't help it…my embarrassment's gone…now I'm just laughing.
"What's so funny?" he says, raising his head off the pillow.
I can't stop laughing, so I shake my head and point at his shorts. He misunderstands what I'm pointing at. "Hey!" he yells, and I start laughing harder. Pretty soon I can't stand up anymore, so I sit on the bed next to him.
"What the hell's so funny?" he asks, trying to cover himself up.
Tears are streaming down my face. "Monkeys!" I manage to get out.
The pissed expression leaves his face and he grins. "Oh…well now. That's okay then. Like 'em?" he asks, doing a little hip dancing, then he hisses at the pain as he pulls his wound.
"Sorry, sorry…I apologize," and stand up again.
"Some Florence Nightingale you are…laughing at a bloke's shorts." Then, as an after thought, "You know…I've shown you mine…"
I snort. "You wish," I tell him, but my heart races just a little.
He stares at me for a minute, then clears his throat and looks away. "So, fix me up, Doc."
I pick up some gauze and start wrapping his leg. "Hand me that tape?" I ask, indicating the tape that's fallen to the other side of the bed. He can't reach it, so I lean over him to grab it, almost slipping and falling on him. As I'm leaning, I feel his touch on my arm, tracing my tattoo. I freeze.
"Nice," he says, "when'd ya get inked?"
I grab the tape and turn my head to look at him. He's staring at my arm, then his eyes move up to mine. There's heat there, I can see it. And I realize I'm returning it. Oh God.
"Couple years ago," I say hoarsely, not moving.
We're staring. "Come 'ere," he says softly, and pulls me to his chest. His lips touch mine…and shocks go off throughout my body. His hands are gripping my arms, holding me to him, pulling me closer. And then I realize I'm returning his kiss…and I'm loving it. Slowly he tugs on me and I straddle him, dimly remembering not to hurt his leg. The tape drops from my hand and I bring that hand to his face, stroking his cheek. It's cold…almost a shock. He pulls back a little, looks in my eyes, questioning, almost like he's embarrassed by the differences in our temperatures.
I don't care…I don't care anymore…I just don't care, I think and bring his lips back to mine. He lets out a little moan, runs his hands over my back, then slowly he lays me back so I'm now on the bed and he's above me.
"Your leg," I whispered as he trails kisses down my neck.
"Shut up," he growls softly, nipping a little here and there, just enough to send shivers down my whole body.
"Oh yeah…" I moan, when his lips go a little lower on my neck, his body's grinding against mine.
"Slayer…" he whispers…and freezes. Our eyes meet, and he's completely shocked.
"What?" I ask.
"I'm sorry," he says, backing up off me.
I sit up. "What? What's wrong?"
He's wincing in pain, trying to shove his legs back into his pants. "Look, I'm sorry, okay?"
"Spike, what the hell is your problem?"
He looks up at me, blankly, stepping into his boots. "It's not you, I'm sorry, really…I gotta go."
And with that, he's gone. I'm left sitting on my bed, wondering what the hell I did wrong.