They had no idea where to start. They had holed up for the remainder of the evening in an inn, and now that morning had come around, they needed to figure out what to do. Sitting at an open-air café blocks away from the Council, Laramie and Spike tried to puzzle out what, precisely, their next move would be. Taking a sip of his ever-present coffee, Laramie cursed aloud.
"Careful, that's hot," Spike said sardonically, drumming his fingers on the table and wondering if there was any way to nick his cigarettes back from Ramie.
"No, no," Laramie sat down his cup of coffee and cursed again. "Damn it, I was counting on the Council to tell us where she was. Your Slayer. Now we have no idea."
Spike hadn't thought of that. In truth, he hadn't thought of much of anything since entering into the 21st century. When his mind wandered, it inevitably wandered to bad things, bad memories, painful recollections that were no doubt engineered to try to sway him off his course of action. So instead of thinking, he took the last words of Ramie's sentences and came up with rhymes for them.
He was frankly stumped on "idea," so he forced himself back into the conversation. "Look at me, bein' all shocked that the Council would ruin something else for us. But…" he trailed off, looking up at the sky and wishing once again for a cigarette. Truly, he was a much better conversationalist if he just had something to do with his hands. He snatched a sugar packet from the table in front of him and began creasing it in his fingers. A little better… "But you didn't expect it to be that easy, did you, Ramie? You never find true love right off the bat, it's gotta be a big trial." Like letting some psychotic demon with halogen eyes beat the stuffing out of you. There's a big trial. But he would have done it again in a heartbeat, if he could have survived it.
Laramie couldn't argue. His mother had often told him that a mark of true love was that it was never easy. There were always difficulties. Thinking of a Titian vampire roaming the streets of the London of his time, Ramie sighed. Difficulties, indeed. "So what do you—"
"Bloody hell," Spike grunted, swinging his chair around so he sat behind Ramie. "Don't move."
Laramie sipped his coffee casually, letting the solid bulk of his body hide Spike's slender frame. He saw two men walking down the street, looking left to right with an eerie but familiar concentration.
They were Watchers, no doubt. One of them was older, the lines of his face etched into a rugged worldliness, an undeniable air of keen intelligence surrounding him. But there was something else, a barely constrained brutality under the bookish exterior.
The other was younger, a man just coming into his confidence, judging by the way he moved. He stood a half step behind the older man, his eyes narrowed in the look of a man who has dealt with trouble more than he had ever expected to.
"You know them?" Laramie asked, hardly moving his lips.
"Your damn straight I do," Spike retorted softly. "The older man… that's Rupert. He's a fairly decent bloke, but he's tried to have me killed a few times. He's not fond of the Council, but—"
"But you don't know who you can trust," Ramie finished easily. "The younger?"
"Wanker," Spike said decisively. "Or at least he used to be a right big one. Works with the Grand Royal Ponce himself, in L.A. Or to use his proper title, Queen Nancy."
Ramie considered himself a fairly sharp man, but Spike was making minimal sense. It was good to keep him talking, Ramie reasoned, so he didn't mention that he was completely lost.
"Oh, bugger it," Spike said, and Laramie felt the man's weight shift behind him. "I'm going after them. They'd know where she was."
Laramie stayed exactly where he was, but his right arm winged behind him and clamped down on Spike's arm. "Don't move," he said in a low voice. "If you don't know whether or not they work for the Council, it won't be worth asking them where she is. They may take you back to the Council just the same."
"At least then I'd know," Spike said, trying to twist out of Ramie's grasp. He was starting to regret calling the man a ponce. He had a grip like a bloody vice. "I'd know if she was alive, Ramie."
"If she weren't alive, the Hub wouldn't have sent you here. I told him you were looking for a place where you could be together." Spike seemed to understand the logic, as he relaxed.
"I don't want to wait, Laramie. She's the only good thing I have left, and I don't even have her." And she could fill the emptiness. She always had before, even when she didn't want to.
"Then let's go find her," Ramie said, leaning and looking down the street where the two Watchers had disappeared.
~~~
She'd rehearsed it a hundred times over, and still couldn't get it right.
Buffy hated swallowing her pride. But when he picked up the phone, she plowed ahead, because she was resolved to do what she had to do in order to find Spike. "Angel?"
It had been a long time, too long, since he'd heard her voice. She hadn't even called as he was sure she meant to after finding out he'd kept the Shanshu prophecy from her. As a consequence, he'd spent months choking on and around the apology that lay ready in his throat. "Hello, Buffy," he said quietly, wondering if now was when she would tell him how much she hated him.
"I didn't want to call," she said, trying to keep her voice cold. It was hard, though, to keep everything out of it. Her feelings for Angel, past and present, her feelings for Spike, past and always… they threatened to make her tremble even as she steeled herself further. "But you're the only one who's got answers for me."
Answers. After all this time, what she wanted from him was answers. You're lucky she wants anything from you at all, he reminded himself. "Well, I suppose you're the one who's got questions for me, then."
Buffy took a deep breath. "I've been having dreams lately. Slayer dreams. And there's another Slayer here who's had them, too."
"Kelly?" Angel asked without thinking. When he heard her indrawn breath, he slammed a hand to his head. Way to speak without thinking. But there was something about her that always scrambled his circuits, and hadn't that always been the problem? Wasn't that why he left?
"How did you know that?" Buffy asked slowly.
"Giles and Wesley have track of all the new Slayers around the country," he said, thinking on his feet. "They mentioned a girl in Indiana. I just remembered her name because it means warrior."
It was completely reasonable, but he was talking fast, nearly stumbling on his words. Buffy filed a mental note to ask Kelly about possible contact from Giles or Wesley and let it rest. "Fine. I just need to know if you've heard anything. You know, about Spike. About William."
At the sound of Spike's given name on her lips, Angel's heart twisted. "Maybe," he said, his voice rough. "I don't know yet if it's him or not."
"Would you tell me if it were?" she retorted quickly, her own voice jagging over the bright hope that wanted to peak inside her. When he didn't answer, she sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm just—"
"No. I deserve it," Angel said, planting the heel of his hand in the center of his forehead and taking a deep breath to steady himself. When would it ever be over? When would it stop being her, eternally her?
But she merely laughed, a sad small laugh that did nothing to alleviate his pain. "Still being the martyr, huh? Here I thought you'd have gotten over that when you left me for my own good." The words came tripping out before she could stop them, pent up and rotting inside her. She had done everything in her power to hold onto him, and he had gone anyway. But Spike… she had pushed as hard as she could, as often as she could, and he stuck. He stuck because, all along, that was what she was hoping he would do.
"What do you want me to say?" Angel said, his throat feeling torn and raw. "What do you want to hear?"
"I want you to say you're sorry," Buffy said, trying to hold back tears. "But I want you to mean it."
"You know I wish it could have been different."
"That's not what I wanted to hear. Tell me you're happy for me, Angel. Tell me if I find someone else, you'll be happy for me. Because you sure couldn't do it last time."
"I'll be happy for you when you find someone worth you. That wasn't me, and I don't think it's Spike, either," Angel burst out. "And there's nothing you can do about that. Nothing you can do to erase the years I spent side-by-side with him, watching him do the same things I did. And don't tell me 'he's different,' because that doesn't change my memories." He took a deep breath and felt a little of the hurt slip out of him at his revelation. "And if he's human, I don't know that I have it in me to be happy for you, Buffy. You forget awfully easily that soul or no, there always lurks a demon inside a vampire."
"You forget awfully easily that he won't be a vampire when I find him again," Buffy said quietly, knowing that the bridge they'd crossed only went one way. "I should go."
"Now there's something I understand," Angel said, chuffing out a small laugh. "Good-bye, Buffy."
Knowing it could be the last conversation they had, Buffy said good-bye and hung up with eyes that were dry.