Part VII: Hyperion Hotel

"He screwed up."

"I'm sorry? Who did...what?"

The corners of the Lilah's mouth twitched, threatening a smile, but her eyes remained deadly serious. She folded her arms,

"Your little friend. He screwed up the whole ritual and now he's in a world of crap, isn't he?"

Wesley's frown of confusion shifted into wary suspicion, still poised as he was with just one foot inside the door and one hand on the door handle. It wasn't altogether surprising to find Lilah alone in his private office when he arrived at work, just...portentous. Since her return from the grave her visits invariably heralded bad news of some kind which, he supposed, was only fitting.

"You know, I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about."

Rolling her eyes indulgently, his late ex-girlfriend stepped around the desk towards him, being careful as she did so to avoid the assortment of fragile-looking scrolls and parchments that covered the surface.

"Don't play coy with me, Wesley. It's kind of moot after the handcuffs, don't you think?"

"I can assure you I'm not playing anything."

Lilah sighed in exasperation.

"Oh come on. I saw you bring him right through the front door."

"You mean Pete?"

"Pete? Who the hell is Pete? I'm talking about William, The Bloody Tragic."

Wesley's mouth was hanging open a little now, and she couldn't help thinking that it wasn't an entirely unflattering look for him.

"William the...?"

"Bloody, yes. Although apparently not 'bloody' for any of the reasons you'd think. Funny story actually..."

"You mean Spike?"

Lilah's mouth quirked again, a wry smile.

"Oh yes, Spike. I was forgetting."

"No, there must be some..."

His eyes clouded with confusion,

"He's not a vampire."

"No. He's not. So who is he?"

The soft, teasing tone of her voice seemed to be affecting him, and to her delight he stepped in closer, wearing her favourite expression. The one she always secretly imagined him wearing whenever she...well, secretly imagined him. The one that said he'd had enough of all her bullshit and that her fun was now officially over. Taking hold of her upper arms, his eyes narrowed slightly.

"I don't know what kind of game you're playing, but I think you'd better tell me what you know."

Held captive by him, Lilah's smile faltered, a faint flush of rose rising to her cheeks. Leaning into his body, she breathed him in, her hair brushing against his bare throat as she spoke.

"Don't you ever wonder what it would be like to start over? Just...wipe away the past and walk away from it all like nothing ever happened?"

Wesley's grip weakened slightly and he stepped away, shaking his head.

"No. I don't."

Raising his eyes to hers, his voice softened a little.

"The past doesn't go away just because we deny it. It's a universe all of it's own. It would still have happened. Everything we've ever done would still exist."

"Not necessarily."

Returning his gaze, Lilah's face was a cool mask again.

"Like I say..."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"He screwed up."

"And why doesn't that surprise me?"

Folding his arms across his chest, Angel's frowned deeply as he stared at the subject of their conversation. Stripped naked to the waist in the privacy of a sterile examination room, William The Bloody glared back at them through the glass as if he was about to be forcibly violated.

"I mean, this is Spike we're talking about."

Beside him, Wesley shook his head, bemused.

"So it would seem."

Stepping in close, Fred's uncertain smile and gentle entreaty to 'hold still now' distracted her patient and he turned away again, letting her continue her curious investigation of his body.

"Apparently the amulet was supposed to cleanse the wearer completely, remove all traces of the demon and his past, anything that could remind him of who and what he was. It appears the process of 'shanshu' is more than just the gift of mortality. It's also the erasing of all past sins. He wasn't supposed to remember anything."

"So why does he?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. Lilah said something about his not following the ritual correctly though. Was there anything she said when she gave the talisman to you? Anything at all you might have misunderstood?"

Angel's eyes narrowed fractionally as he watched Fred bow her head towards Spike's chest, stethoscope at the ready.

"No. I don't think so."

"Anything confusing in the file at all?"

"The file?"

A soft giggle and her eyes seemed to glow softly at something he'd said. A coy shake of the head as she placed the stethoscope again, listened intently to the beat of his heart.

"Lilah said there was a file. Several priceless documents with specific details of exactly how the amulet was to be used."

"There was a file?"

Another laugh and this time there was a flirtatious little slap to go along with it. They sure looked like they were getting along famously in there.

"Angel. You didn't give Buffy the file?"

"What?"

He scowled. Was that close an examination really necessary?

"Yeah, I gave her the file. I'm pretty sure I did."

Turning to look at Wesley, he was surprised to see just how aggrieved he looked. Quite pissed at him in fact.

"What?! I gave it to her! I just...maybe I didn't tell her what was in it? O.K? I'm sorry! I'm not perfect."

"And the fact that Buffy chose him to wear it rather than you, had nothing to do with the oversight?"

Angel shrugged,

"It just didn't seem that important at the time."

He turned back to the glass partition, frowning again when he saw they were both deep in their own conversation now. Fred's small hand resting unconsciously on his upper arm as she pumped the blood-pressure cuff, Spike nodding in interest as she talked. Despite his own lack of a circulatory system, a tiny blood vessel under his eyelid suddenly began to tick.

"After all the crap about the cookie-dough...kinda slipped my mind."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"So they screwed up?"

"It appears that way The portion of the scroll that describes the ritual is very clear that no person - no living soul - should come into contact with the amulet's bearer once it's power has been unleashed. If the flow is broken at all, by contact or by the talisman being removed, then the cleansed soul is irrevocably...altered."

"Altered?"

Wesley frowned,

"The part isn't terribly specific I'm afraid."

"Jeez."

Dribbling the basketball he was holding from hand to hand, Gunn pursed his lips in sympathy before dropping it down to the floor, resting a foot on it. Glancing back at the other two players waiting for him on the court, he shook his head.

"So Angel must be pretty mad. I mean, this guy stealing the whole mortality gig right out from under him. That's pretty harsh."

Wesley sighed softly, remembering the vampire's expression when he had explained the true significance of the amulet to him.

"I think it's fair to say he feels a little cheated, yes."

"And this 'Spike' guy, he still doesn't know who he is?"

"Not yet. Although I'm guessing the flashes of memory he's been experiencing could be the start of a degradation of the spell's power." he shrugged, "Perhaps something else. Unfortunately we've no way of knowing exactly what went wrong."

"Well, that's not strictly the truth though is it?"

Their eyes meeting briefly, the two men shared a look of understanding.

"You mean Buffy."

Taking a quick look behind him again, Gunn nodded.

"Faith said that Buffy was right there with the guy, right up to the...his end. I'm guessing if anyone can tell you what happened, it's her."

"Angel doesn't want them involved at this stage"

"Right. 'At this stage'."

Looking past his shoulder, Wesley eyed the two young interns in sports-gear waiting silently for his friend. He frowned.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Gunn cocked his head to one side, raised one eyebrow knowingly.

"I'm just saying. If she was my girl, I'd be hoping like hell those memories of his stay gone."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Whadd'you mean 'he screwed up'?"

Dragging her eyes away from the screen of her Powerbook, Willow's voice was sharp-edged with irritation and Fred took several hurried steps backwards out of her room. Despite their rare communications in the past she'd always thought of the witch as a true friend, a soul mate even, but sometimes she got a glimpse of what it must be like to be on the wrong side of Dark Willow and...dammit...now she was even more flustered than she had been before.

"I'm sorry, I should have...it's just...I heard Angel and Wesley talking and I thought...well, someone should come over and tell you guys what's going on. I mean he's your friend and everything, and I think...if it was my brain I mean...I'd want someone who cares about me to...and Angel really doesn't at all."

"Fred will you just slow down? What the heck are you talking about? Whose brain? And what does it have to do with Spike?"

Pushing her hands deep into the pockets of her lab coat, the nervous girl took a deep gulping breath of air, held it tight and counted slowly to three before letting it out.

"Your friend Spike's alive but he doesn't know he's Spike yet, well he does but he doesn't remember anything and I don't think Angel wants him too. I think...I mean I don't know but...I think Angel's maybe going to use more magic to make him forget again and I don't think it's right."

Staring at her incredulously, Willow's jaw hung open for a full ten seconds before she motioned her to come inside and shut the door. Still a little uneasy, Fred silently complied.

"You're saying Spike's alive?"

The witches eyes widened, narrowed in on her when she nodded her assertion. Widened again.

"Oh my God...you don't mean...how alive?"

"Alive. Like with a heart-beat, respiration, sweat-glands, the works. He's human."

"You're sure?"

"Sure. It's definitely him.

"Oh my G...but how did he..."

"The amulet."

"Oh."

Fred watched as she worked through that information, processing, connecting the dots.

"I know that Angel was supposed to wear it but Buffy..."

A brief exchange of glances and suddenly they were both on the same page.

"Oh."

A whole range of emotions seemed to be passing across Willow's face; total disbelief, relief and happiness and then anger. Moving some clothes aside on the bed, her friend seated herself, only to jump to her feet again a moment later as the other girl did.

"I have to go tell Buffy!"

She groaned inwardly.

"Oh God, I can't. What if you're wrong. What if it's not him?"

Fred's eyebrows drew together a little resentfully.

"It's him. I matched up all the base-pairs myself."

"But she's hurting so bad right now. I couldn't tell her he's ok without...."

Eyes suddenly bright, Willow grabbed her hand.

"You have to take me to him."

"I don't know if I can. They have him under observation and it's highest clearance only on the twelfth floor. We won't even be allowed through the door."

"Then we'll make our own door."

Swallowing audibly, Fred gave her a weak smile.

"How did I know you were going to say that."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Jeez. They really screwed up."

"What? They did not! It's supposed to look like this."

Blinking in mild surprise, Xander paused briefly in the act of adding milk to his Cheerios and stared at her. Cocked his head and then nodded, a little uncertainly at first and then again, more emphatically.

"O.K. O.K. I get it. It's kind of a retro thing, right? Farrah Fawcett?"

Heaving a deep sigh, Dawn rolled her eyes at him, slumped onto a stool and rested her fashionably coifed head in her hands. She curled her lip.

"It looks stupid doesn't it?"

"No. Not stupid exactly."

He lifted his spoon and quietly shovelled dripping Os into his mouth.

"It jud lugs vic."

"What?!"

He swallowed.

"It just looks big."

Reached out and smoothed the side a little.

"You just need to go wash it is all. Spend some time with it. Make it your own again."

Eyeing him sideways, Dawn gave a small incredulous laugh, before twisting round on her chair.

"O.K. And since when did you become the big expert on hair disasters."

Xander shrugged self-effacingly.

"Just one of my many hidden talents."

Finishing the bowl off he reached for the packet again, tipped in another helping.

"It's what An always used to say."

Dawn eyes followed his hand as he reached out for the milk jug, unable to look straight at him for a second. She could feel the two ribs she'd broken suddenly start to hurt again, a dull heavy ache that had kept her awake every night since it happened. Crying helped. She did that a lot and she knew Xander did too. Sometimes she could hear him through the wall; deep, wracking choking sobs that always ended the same way. With silence. She wasn't sure which sound was more painful. They comforted each other, they tried at least. But sometimes comfort was pretending it never happened. Comfort was the mutual lie you never spoke of. Comfort was telling yourself that home was still there, that you were all on vacation, that all your school-friends and their homes and families weren't really lost to you. That two more of the people you loved most in the world weren't gone forever and that your big sister, who you counted on for everything, wasn't slowly falling apart inside.

Softly Dawn drew in a breath, slid out her hand and captured his. Fingers twining.

"Tell me what else she'd say."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Oh man. I screwed it up."

Buffy's forehead puckered into a frown and she sighed, snarled, drew back her arm and hurled the tiny bottle of pink hard candy nail polish across the room to land noisily in the waste bin. Raising her head from her fellow slayer's pillow for an instant, Faith gave her a amused grin, cracked her gum. Changed channels on the TV again.

"Watch it B. That's Dawnie's favourite."

Buffy scowled, picking at her smeared cuticle.

"Then she can buy her own next time."

"Yeah? You gonna tell her that or shall I?"

The frown deepening a little, the other girl sighed, rolled her head slowly from side to side on her neck. Sighed again. Watching her, Faith could almost feel her own skin starting to twitch.

"You hungry?"

"No."

"Thirsty? Xander has beer."

"No."

"Horny?"

A withering look.

"Seriously. There's a club right down the street. We could go check it out."

"Not in the mood."

Faith's eyes roamed the walls of the small, well-furnished room. Angel's taste really wasn't really hers, but she could see he'd made a real effort here, more than he had in her room anyway. Buffy had a TV at least and a shower that actually worked. Plus she didn't have to share with anyone else, which in her book was a major plus. Some of the new Slayers could be real jerks about her choice of music.

"Mah Jong?"

"You play Mah Jong?"

Faith pointed with the remote,

"No but you do."

Buffy looked, wrinkled her nose at it.

"You have Scrabble too. Whad'ya say?"

Silence.

"Only dirty words allowed."

"What are you doing in here, Faith?"

Her voice was like chipped porcelain, cold and brittle, all pretence at friendliness gone. Taken aback Faith bridled for a second before remembering who this was, who she was. Keeping her eyes fixed on the TV she flipped channels again.

"Just shooting the breeze B. That's all."

A small hand wrested the remote from her. Opened the door up wide.

"Can you just leave me alone for a while."

She felt her shoulders sag a little even as she forced the stone cold bitch act and of course Faith would notice. Faith who saw everything, who knew damn well she couldn't be left alone right now. Faith who was trying her hardest to bring her back from wherever it was she'd taken herself. Dark brown eyes stared back into her own, serious now, always serious when it counted.

"I know how much it hurts B, but you can't let this drag you under. Not now."

"Now I have my life back you mean?"

"Now we all have. That's what he did it for. What do you think it says about that if we waste it."

"I know that."

Her voice was small and tremulous, but tin-hard with pain.

"Don't you think I know that."

She spread her hands wide, her throat constricting as she tried to speak.

"It's all I ever think about. What he gave me, what he did for me. He gave up everything to make me happy, to give me what I deserved,"

The words started to crack and tumble from her,

"And now he's dead. And that's because of me. Because I couldn't..." she flew at herself, raking hands through her hair, "Because he was stupid, and unselfish, and because he loved me so fucking much that he just...he died from it. And as it turns out the one thing I really need to make me happy died too."

Her breath caught, eyes silver bright with unshed tears, and they stared at each other. Reaching a hand to her face, Buffy swiped at it roughly, turned to the open door again.

"So I'm sorry if I don't feel like celebrating right now."

"B..."

"Don't 'B' me, all right?"

She sighed wearily,

"I'm...ok. I'll be ok."

Sliding off the bed, Faith moved over to the door, seemed about to go through it, and then stopped.

"Eat something then. Come downstairs and eat a burrito and I'll believe you."

"I told you..."

"Yeah, you're not hungry, I know it. Eat the burrito and I'll leave you alone. I promise."

Rolling her head to one side, Buffy moaned softly.

"Faith..."

"Hey! A gal's gotta eat hasn't she? Gotta keep her strength up if she's planning on being anything more than a vamp-snack next time she steps outside."

Something about the determined glint in her eyes told her that this wasn't something that she could circumvent, not without a great deal more argument than she had the energy for.

"O.K. I'll eat the damn burrito. For pity's sake. Does Angel even have a microwave?"

Stepping out into the hall after her, she managed to raise a pale smile at Faith's excited enthusiasm. Grinning widely, the other girl walked backwards in front of her, taking the stairs two at a time.

"Who said anything about microwaves. Thought we could just mosey on down to the corner, that little taco stand is right across from..."

"Wait a minute, I never said anything about going...."

The words died in her throat, dried, her breath leaving her body in one long wordless sigh. Twisting round to see what so captivated her, Faith's eyes widened at the sight that greeted them on the steps of the hotel's foyer.

Willow, bent almost double, her face a mask of nervous fear and excitement, Fred panting with exhertion and damp with sweat. And between them, his weight only half supported by the two exhausted women, a figure so achingly familiar that Buffy thought her heart would break in two, so cruel was the resemblance. The slope of the shoulders, the mess of unruly bleached curls, the curve of his neck. Even down to the boots on his feet, those great, stupid, black, boots. Idly, she wondered how it was possible that anyone could look so like a person and not be them. How ridiculous that was. How incredibly fucking cruel life could be.

But then he lifted his head and saw her, and her world went away.