Putting the Question
By Melissa(dettiot@yahoo.com)
Disclaimer: Joss, ME, and Fox owns them all. I'm just having some fun with them.
Summary: Set a year from Destiny, let's find out why Spike's still in LA, making friends and building a new life for himself.
Putting the Question
Chapter 2
The morning after his "birthday," Spike awoke with a splitting headache and a blonde vampire in his bed.
He groaned as he sat up, both from his head and from realizing he'd slept with Harmony. He was obviously a stupid git who couldn't learn from his mistakes at all. Harmony started moving, and he cursed himself for making any noise. He braced himself for clinging and pleas for committment.
Harmony rolled over and looked at Spike. "Morning. I'll be out of here in a minute--just want to shower, if you don't mind."
Spike stared at Harmony as she got out of bed, wrapping a blanket around herself. "What? You're not going to start calling me 'Blondie Bear' and expecting dates every Friday night with a suitable floral arrangement following on Monday for a 'lovely evening together'?"
Harmony snorted. "Yeah, as if. Like I'd want to get involved with you again. I'm not stupid. I know this was just sex." She paused, and gave him a once-over. "Doesn't mean I don't want a repeat at some point."
"What? You want to be shag buddies?" Spike felt like his brain was a wound-down watch, ticking way too slowly to be effective.
"Well, I'm single, you're single, I guess. I mean, yeah, Slayer-loving freak, but still, she's not around, and it's not like you're saving yourself for her. So why not have some fun?" Harmony said, in a perfect mingling of Valley Girl and vampire logic. At Spike's expression, she rolled her eyes. "It's not like we haven't done it before. So, you up for it?" she said, leering at his chest.
Spike gaped at her for a minute, wondering how in the hell she had gotten enough brain cells together to figure that out. He shook his head, and then clutched it, regretting the motion. "Talk to me after I cut my head off."
"Okay, Spikey!" she said much too brightly. She dropped a kiss on the top of his head, and headed into the small bathroom attached to his room.
Spike slowly laid back down on his bed, closing his eyes and cursing himself for being weak and using Harmony. One of his regrets that wasn't connected with Buffy was the way he had treated Harmony when he knew that she'd loved him. In one of his darker moods, he had wondered if his relationship with Buffy had been a karmic payback for his treatment of Harmony. He had concluded that God wouldn't be that cruel to him, because it wasn't possible that he had hurt Harmony as badly as Buffy had hurt him.
Yet maybe her idea wasn't all bad. She certainly seemed to know the score, and so he wouldn't have to worry about a nagging girlfriend. Besides, what was life without a girl to take out, to have fun with? Harmony would fit the bill, and it would be the first step to his new life.
Spike opened his eyes and glanced at the clock. The numbers read 8:45 a.m., so he decided to get up and go to his office. The last thing he wanted was to be like Angel, all brooding and Mr. Solitude.
No, it was time to remember who he really was. He was Spike, the Big Bad himself, who was the only vampire to ever seek out a soul just because he wanted it. He wasn't cursed, he wasn't prophesized about. He could make his own choices, so maybe it was time he did that.
***
"Good morning, everyone," Spike said as he walked into Angel's office, where the rest of the team had assembled for a mid-morning staff meeting. "What evil is afoot in this fair city?" He took a seat at the conference table, and leaned back in his chair, resting his feet on the table.
"Spike, feet. Down," Angel said, not taking his attention from the pile of folders in front of him. "And I would have thought you'd still be sleeping off your hangover at this point."
"Or getting rid of Harmony," Gunn said with a snicker.
"Well, us hero types can't let our infirmities-or our pleasures-distract us from fighting the good fight," Spike said jovially.
Everyone at the table stopped whatever they were doing and stared at him. He just smiled at them, enjoying their confusion and attention. Finally, Fred said, "Spike, are you feeling all right?"
"Right as rain, Dixie," he said, finally taking his feet down from the table and leaning forward in his chair. "So, Angel, what's on today's schedule?"
Angel looked at him blankly, but then just shook his head and started speaking, bringing everyone up to speed about their latest clients. Spike listened, and occasionally offered his thoughts, but tried to stay in the background. Still, when the meeting broke up, Angel said, "Spike, I want a word."
"Sure, boss," he said cheekily as he dropped back into his chair.
Angel spoke to Gunn for a moment, and then came back to the conference table, sitting in a chair next to Spike. "So, you want to drop the act?"
"What act?" Spike said, hating this conversation already.
"You say last night that you're not going to run after Buffy, you then drink like a fish and leave with Harmony. Today, you waltz in here, acting like you're on top of the world. You haven't acted this annoying since you first arrived here."
"Well, maybe I've been playing an act for months, acting all lovesick and downtrodden, when really, I *am* this annoying," Spike said, leaning back in his chair.
"No one is this annoying, Spike, even you."
Spike got up and started pacing. "It's just . . . " His voice trailed off as he tried to figure out how to explain to Angel.
"You don't want to be like me."
Spike watched as Angel rose and walked over towards the windows, his back to Spike. "You want to try and get over Buffy, but you sure as hell don't want to do it like I did-brooding, staying quiet. You're going to be loud and cocky and arrogant and as different from me as you can be. But the end result is the same, Spike."
"And what's that?" Spike asked, mustering up his bravado.
Angel turned and looked over his shoulder at Spike. "You don't get over Buffy."
"For God's sake, mate!" Spike said, letting his anger out in his voice. "You loved Darla for over a century! You were willing to kill, with your soul, to stay with her. But you're saying some chit, that you barely knew, is the love of your life?"
Angel turned away, and went back to staring out the window. "Perhaps I loved Buffy because I saw Darla in her-what Darla could have been. Maybe I craved Darla so much because I wondered about what kind of innate goodness there was in her, and I wanted to know what I'd do if I found it. Doesn't matter. Darla is dead, because of Co-because of me, and Buffy and I can never be together. Psychologically, I think it's a bit healthier to consider Buffy the love of my life."
"Yeah, because you know you still have a chance with Buffy," Spike said with a snort.
"Perhaps," Angel acknowledged. "I don't care what you do, Spike. As long as you show up for meetings and hold up your part of the deal, you can act however you want. Just remember what I said."
"Sure," Spike said, feigning boredom as he stalked towards the door.
"Oh, and Spike? I suppose if I told you I didn't want you stealing my secretary for nooners, you'd still go ahead and do it?"
Spike grinned at Angel. "You know me too well."
As he left the room, he thought he heard Angel mutter, "Yeah, I do."
***
The first few weeks went well. Spike had settled down a bit after the first few days, when he realized he was starting to piss himself off. But that didn't mean he let all the attitude disappear-he just toned it down some, and even Angel seemed to accept his random sarcastic statements.
He didn't accept so easily Spike's requests to be paid. Angel protested that since Spike lived at the office, and got his blood through Wolfram & Hart, what need did he have to be paid? Spike refused to tell Angel, but held firm that if he was an employee, he should be paid; what he did with the money was his business.
Spike didn't make any statements about leaving the firm; he knew that he'd stay regardless of Angel's decision. But that didn't mean he couldn't make Angel's life miserable, until he agreed with Spike. Much to his delight, Angel started groaning whenever Spike appeared in his office, and his grandsire was always eager to send him out on W&H business that got him out of the office. The breaking point came during a meeting with the D'Tissa clan, when Spike walked into Angel's office and started picketing for equal pay for equal work. Spike knew exactly what he was doing; the D'Tissas were sticklers for fair labor practices, and they wouldn't be too happy to learn that their lawyers weren't equally particular. Angel had no choice but to agree to Spike's demand for a salary.
With his first paycheck, Spike blew it all on smokes, booze, and a weekend at the vampire's equivalent of the Santa Anita racetrack. At least, that's what he wanted Angel to think. He had secretly stashed some of his pay in a bank account, putting aside the money for the plan he was developing.
His next paycheck, Spike put half of it in the bank, and then took Fred out to dinner. He hadn't spent as much time with her lately as he had when he had first appeared in L.A., and he found he had missed her. So he took his favorite scientist to a nice restaurant, where they had a great time catching up.
Fred had been happily regaling him with stories about Knox, when she suddenly stopped in mid-stream and switched gears. "Spike?"
"Yeah, pet?" he asked, pouring the last of the red wine into his glass.
"Well, it's just that I was wondering, and of course, you don't have to tell me if you don't feel comfortable talking about it, but I think you need to talk about it. Although maybe you're entering a strong silent period, which would be really odd because 'silent' would never describe you, I think . . . " Her voice trailed off, and Spike couldn't help smiling at the embarrassment on her face.
"So, you want to talk to me about something?" he said, trying to stifle his laughter.
She nodded. "Yes. It's about . . . well, it's about Buffy."
At her name, Spike sat back in his chair, and sighed. "Fred, if you're asking if I took you out tonight so I could spill my guts about Buffy, out of the hearing of Angel, that's not the case."
"No, I'm not asking that, although now that you mention it, that's a good reason to talk about this now. No, it's just that . . . you're asking Angel for money, you're having afternoon delight with Harmony, and you're all snarky again. Have, have you heard something from Buffy?"
"If you think Buffy had contacted me, Harmony would be the last woman in the world I'd be sleeping with, Fred."
She bit her lip, but pressed forward. "Just because Buffy contacted you didn't mean it would necessarily be good news."
"It'd be more likely that it'd be something I wouldn't want to hear, that's certainly true," Spike agreed. "But why do all these things combine to me being in touch with Buffy?"
Fred shrugged her shoulders. "You get sarcastic when you're covering your feelings. You did it when you first arrived, and now you're doing it again. You're sleeping with Harmony to forget about someone. And you're asking Angel for a salary, which I highly doubt you're blowing all on cigarettes. So, it makes me think you're planning something. Something like leaving," she said quietly.
"I may be able to leave L.A., but it's not like I'm gonna run off after Buffy." Spike paused, and looked at Fred. "Look, I get that you're concerned. And Dixie, I appreciate the concern. But there's nothing to worry about. I haven't heard anything from Buffy." He dropped his gaze to his plate, and pushed around the last of his filet mignon.
"So that's the problem? You haven't heard anything?" Fred said, her voice curious. "I mean, does she even know if you're alive? I mean, not dead? Oh, you know what I mean."
Spike grinned weakly. "Far as I know, she has no idea. And I think it's better if it stays that way."
"I'm sorry, but I just don't understand," Fred said, shaking her head. "Don't you want to let her know that you're back? At the very least, it'd be the polite thing."
Spike snorted. "Vampire, luv. 'Polite' isn't really in the definition of the word."
"Isn't there anyone that you'd want to get in contact with, though? Anyone that you didn't resolve everything? Words left unsaid?"
Spike looked away from Fred, trying not to start making a laundry list of regrets and wishes. If he started, he'd never finish.
"Spike, I'm sorry," Fred said. "I . . . I just wanted to give you a different perspective. When I got sucked into that portal to Pylea, I spent a lot of time at first just trying to survive. I didn't have time to think about home. But when I did, I spent a lot of time being miserable, thinking over all the things I should have done, could have done. It was the worst." She paused, but continued. "But, I needed to do that. I needed to remember my old life, to remember why I wanted to go home. I was lucky-I got to come home, and I could face my regrets. And I think you need to do that."
"Well, Fred, I'm not eager to think about all the times I fucked up, and all the people I have to apologize to. I'm not like you, since the worst thing you ever did was stay out past your curfew. I attacked Buffy. I stole and lied and cheated and killed, Fred. How can I make up for that? How?"
The waiter materializing at their table made him realize his voice had been raised loud enough for others in the restaurant to hear him. Spike sighed, and threw some cash on the table. "Come on, Fred," he said, holding out his hand to her. She gave him a long look, but then took his hand and allowed him to escort her out of the restaurant. They didn't say anything on the drive back to the office, and although Spike tried to apologize to her, Fred didn't let him. She merely put her fingers over his lips, and smiled at him, before heading off to the lab.
***
Spike tiredly walked into his office/living area. It had been a few weeks since his dinner with Fred, and since then, he had been feeling very unlike himself. He had broken things off with Harmony once and for all, much to his sanity's pleasure although not his libido's. But he had just gotten tired of dealing with her, even in a no-strings kind of way. Annoying bint, she was.
But it was other things, too. He kept returning to the conversation he had with Fred, much to his displeasure. The last thing he wanted to think about was all the things he'd fix if he could, but he couldn't seem to prevent his mind from returning to that topic. There were several times that he cursed Fred for putting the idea in his head. He had been doing all right, hadn't he? He'd been getting the job done, and even getting some enjoyment out of life. But now, he moped around, not even caring about his similarity to Angel. He hardly spent any of his paycheck, just putting it in the bank out of habit. Thanks to that habit, he was building up a tidy nest egg, one that he could use to travel or invest or have a grand time in Vegas. Yet he couldn't work up the will to do any of those things.
He tossed the duster over a chair, and sank down on the matching sofa. He had been dealing with a gang of Chrisjourno demons earlier today and they had taken a lot out of him. All he wanted to do at this point was drink some blood, catch the footie game on the satellite, and get some sleep. Maybe if he was able to sleep a bit, he'd stop thinking more about Buffy than he had in the last year.
He had just pulled himself over to the refrigerator, pulling out a bag of blood, when a knock sounded on his door. He sighed, but called out, "Come in."
The door opened, and Wesley poked his head inside. "Hello, Spike. I was wondering if you were planning on watching . . .?"
Spike sighed again and squeezed the blood into a mug. "Becks is playing, isn't he? Of course I'm watching. Pull up a bit of sofa." He heated up his blood, and when it was finished, took a seat in the armchair.
They were quiet during the first quarter, with occasional shouts at players or the referees. However, Spike kept sensing Wes glancing over at him, and he finally snarled, "Spit it out, Wes."
Wes shifted on the sofa. "Fred talked to me a few days ago, saying that the two of you had gone out to dinner, and she was worried that she had upset you. She asked me to speak with you."
Spike groaned. "Meddling woman." He sat forward in his chair. "Fred went poking her nose in things she shouldn't have, and as a result, I'm right brassed off. Not at what she did," he assured Wes. "No, I'm mad about how I feel about what she said."
"I assume this is about Buffy."
Spike jumped up from the chair with a shout of frustration, and began pacing around the room. "You see, that's what I mean. You know, my sun doesn't rise and set on Buffy! There were other people I cared about, that I'd like to talk to. But no, Buffy is the only person I think about according to all of you around here. But I can't talk to Dawn, or Red, or even Giles, because Miss High and Mighty Slayer can't be bothered to pick up the sodding phone and tell us where they are!" Spike paused, and let out a strained chuckle. "I even want to talk to Xander. I must be going crazy. Again."
Wes cocked an eyebrow. "I admit, the desire to talk to Xander Harris could easily be construed as insanity. But I'm curious--just what did Fred say, that has made you so irritable lately?"
Spike glared at Wes. "Irritable? You make me sound like a child."
"In fact, you've acted more like an infant. Sulking, fighting, screaming at the top of your lungs."
Spike stopped pacing and slumped back into his chair. Wes didn't say anything, waiting for Spike to speak. Finally, he found the words.
"I want to get over Buffy. Well, not want, exactly. More like I feel like I have to try, or else this second chance I got will have been wasted." He stared at his fingernails. "Remember how I told you about my mum? About what I did to her?" Wes nodded, and Spike continued. "I had blocked it all out, but the First picked over my memories and used a song my mum sang to me as a trigger. To get rid of the trigger, I had to face the memories. Face the fact that I turned my mother, and then I had to kill her, because she wasn't my mother anymore."
Wesley nodded sympathetically. "Quite a few fledglings through time have done the same, with similar results."
Spike pressed on, as if he hadn't heard Wesley. "Well, remembering all that, it made me feel like my own man again, you know? Breaking the trigger, yeah, was good. But even better was remembering that my mum had loved me. No matter what happened to me, I knew she had loved me, and I had turned her out of love. Knowing that--it gave me back my confidence, I guess. Dunno, really. I just felt different after that. Like I was becoming my own man. I told Buffy that, and I think she could see that," he said softly.
"So, now, in a sense, you're trying to figure out a way to de-trigger yourself of Buffy?"
"Lacking a better way to describe it, yes." Spike turned and looked at Wes. "Know you've been there, mate. Just wondering how you did it."
"Yes . . . Fred," Wes said, his voice tinged with a touch of emotion. "When she chose someone else, I had to decide which was more important: staying in her life, if only as a co-worker, or declaring my intentions and interfering in her new relationship, and potentially losing several friends as well as her. So I contented myself with her friendship. And sometimes I wonder if I made the right choice, in stepping back. But then I think about what she wanted, and my choice was already made for me."
A heavy silence fell over the room, and the sound of the television did little to lighten the dark mood both men felt.
Spike cleared his throat, trying not to reveal how close to tears he was in. Because he was crying on the inside, great heaving sobs. And while he knew he was going to sound like a choice git, the words still fell from his lips. "So, the fact that Buffy hasn't called Angel at all . . . guess that means she's happy where she is, and I shouldn't go mucking that up, huh?"
Wes didn't say anything in reply, only reached over and laid his hand on Spike's shoulder. Spike couldn't help the small sniff, and then he said, "Well, that's that. Least now, I know."
Wes removed his hand, and Spike leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes. "I had told myself over and over that I was moving on, but I don't think I believed it. Until now."
"Well, that's why they're called epiphanies. They strike out of the blue."
Spike groaned, and forced his attention to the television. Forced himself to concentrate on the movement of men and a black-and-white ball, instead of thinking of how he was letting go of his dream. For weeks, he thought he had put Buffy behind him, that he was dealing with his decision to let her go. He realized now that he had been running away from any thought of Buffy. And now, that he had faced up to his choices, he had gone with the only one that made sense.
The one where Buffy was happy.
***
Spike spent a lot of time alone after that evening with Wesley. Unlike before, when he was brooding-no way he could deny it, he'd seen Angel brood too many times not to know he had been doing the same-this time, he was thinking. About his life as a human, about the years he had spent as an 'evil thing', and about the months when he had been an anomaly: the only vampire in history to win back his soul. The events of the last six years weighed heavily on him: the time spent in Sunnydale, moping after Drusilla, hatching evil plans despite his chip, falling in love with Buffy, touching her body but never her heart, only to go too far. Then the time when his soul had put him through insanity and then slow recovery, only to have his body be nearly broken by the First. He had thought he was finally pulling things together at the end . . . he had broken the First's trigger, Buffy was reaching out to him, he was finally realizing what his place in the world was, and he had an inkling that it wasn't necessarily at Buffy's side.
But then, that last battle had come, and he had realized that his destiny laid along a different path than Buffy. She would keep walking her path, but his was finally coming to an end. He knew it the moment their fingers entertwined, right before he told her to go and sent her out of the basement. Before his body went up in a blaze of light. He had resigned himself, as soon as he took that horribly gaudy piece of jewelry from her, that he wasn't going to make it. And it was so damn hard to face, but he consoled himself with the thought that he was doing this for Buffy. She'd live, and go on, and have all the things he would have loved to have given her.
When he was returned to life, his first thought had been Buffy. He thought about how he would find her, and they'd finally have the time to figure out what there was between them, without the threat of evil and apocalypse hanging over their heads. He didn't completely expect a happy ending, but all he could think about was the chance, the possibility of the two of them being happy together.
Yet he was stuck in L.A., unable to touch or feel anything. He thought that once he became corporeal, he'd be able to find Buffy. But then he was solid, and he found that for some reason, he kept finding some reason to not leave. First it was the problems at the office, then he needed to help Lorne with a crisis in Pylea, then it was several cases that Angel asked for his help with. And before he knew it, a year had gone by and he was still in Los Angeles.
Maybe it wasn't a case of 'before he knew it'. Maybe his subconscious knew what it was doing all along. It was getting him ready for a time when he'd face facts and realize that Buffy and he would never be together. Of course, the situation had been helped by her inability to remain in contact with Angel. He would have told her that Spike had been returned, and who knows what would have happened then? But she hadn't called, hadn't written.
Love couldn't survive in a vacuum. His love for Buffy, despite his efforts to sustain it, had slowly been suffocated. He loved her, he knew. Would always love her. But the ache to possess her, to be with her, had faded away. He believed that she was in the world, happily living her life. That was all he had wanted for her. Once, he had wanted to help make that happen, but now, he was content knowing that she must be happy, because she was free from the Hellmouth and all the burdens of slaying.
So, if Buffy was happy, free from slaying, he was free, too. Free from his guilt over not finding Buffy, free from his shame that maybe he didn't measure up, after all. Free of his doubt over what kind of man he was.
He knew what he was now. He was a good man.
***
In the following days, Spike found a new confidence within himself. He finally started working with Wesley, helping with translations when asked. He had scorned Wesley's efforts to include him in the past, but now he found he enjoyed the book work.
But he still relished the patrols with Angel or Gunn, using his speed and skill to take out demons who thought they could take over the world. He got the same thrill out of using his fists as he did decoding an ancient manuscript.
He started having lunch with Fred weekly. At their first lunch, he thanked her for the care she had shown for him, and told her he appreciated it, even if it had been a hard lesson to learn. She had smiled at him, and told him she had confidence that he'd always be able to learn anything he needed to know, no matter how hard. The words were lovely to hear, but they weren't anything he didn't already know about himself.
His bank account was still growing, although he took some money out and bought himself some clothes. When Fred, who went with him to serve as his stylist, asked him why he was changing his look, he just said that he usually changed his look every twenty years or so. Fred had gotten a look on her face, but hadn't said anything as he picked out some pairs of black slacks and a variety of colored shirts, both pullover and button-down. She approved of the blue and red shirts, and made him put back a forest green shirt that would make him look "tubercular."
She also helped him pick out a new jacket to replace the duster. He decided that while he'd always keep that symbolic coat, he couldn't wear it anymore. But even Fred couldn't convince him to stop dying his hair. Still, he felt confident that his 'new look' wasn't that big of a shake-up.
He was wearing black slacks and a blue pullover on a sunny Tuesday morning when he entered Angel's office. He glanced up as he walked in, catching sight of Angel before redirecting his eyes to the open file folder in his hands. "Angel, we've got a problem. According to this translation, the Rite of Peesu-Brat is supposed to be held in two days, and it's not exactly a pleasant moonlight picnic for the forty humans who have to be sacrificed as part of the rite. We need to make some plans . . . "
Spike trailed off when he realized there was something going on. Someone else was in the room. He could feel his senses tingling in a way he didn't want to remember. He took a deep breath, and kept his eyes on the papers in front of him for a moment. Before he could look up, she spoke.
He heard a soft chuckle. "Hello, Spike. You're not surprised to see me, I think."
He swallowed, and looked up. There she was. She stood in a patch of sunlight, but to him, she outshone even the sun. He was finally able to find his voice. "Right as always . . . Buffy."
End, Chapter 2
By Melissa(dettiot@yahoo.com)
Disclaimer: Joss, ME, and Fox owns them all. I'm just having some fun with them.
Summary: Set a year from Destiny, let's find out why Spike's still in LA, making friends and building a new life for himself.
Putting the Question
Chapter 2
The morning after his "birthday," Spike awoke with a splitting headache and a blonde vampire in his bed.
He groaned as he sat up, both from his head and from realizing he'd slept with Harmony. He was obviously a stupid git who couldn't learn from his mistakes at all. Harmony started moving, and he cursed himself for making any noise. He braced himself for clinging and pleas for committment.
Harmony rolled over and looked at Spike. "Morning. I'll be out of here in a minute--just want to shower, if you don't mind."
Spike stared at Harmony as she got out of bed, wrapping a blanket around herself. "What? You're not going to start calling me 'Blondie Bear' and expecting dates every Friday night with a suitable floral arrangement following on Monday for a 'lovely evening together'?"
Harmony snorted. "Yeah, as if. Like I'd want to get involved with you again. I'm not stupid. I know this was just sex." She paused, and gave him a once-over. "Doesn't mean I don't want a repeat at some point."
"What? You want to be shag buddies?" Spike felt like his brain was a wound-down watch, ticking way too slowly to be effective.
"Well, I'm single, you're single, I guess. I mean, yeah, Slayer-loving freak, but still, she's not around, and it's not like you're saving yourself for her. So why not have some fun?" Harmony said, in a perfect mingling of Valley Girl and vampire logic. At Spike's expression, she rolled her eyes. "It's not like we haven't done it before. So, you up for it?" she said, leering at his chest.
Spike gaped at her for a minute, wondering how in the hell she had gotten enough brain cells together to figure that out. He shook his head, and then clutched it, regretting the motion. "Talk to me after I cut my head off."
"Okay, Spikey!" she said much too brightly. She dropped a kiss on the top of his head, and headed into the small bathroom attached to his room.
Spike slowly laid back down on his bed, closing his eyes and cursing himself for being weak and using Harmony. One of his regrets that wasn't connected with Buffy was the way he had treated Harmony when he knew that she'd loved him. In one of his darker moods, he had wondered if his relationship with Buffy had been a karmic payback for his treatment of Harmony. He had concluded that God wouldn't be that cruel to him, because it wasn't possible that he had hurt Harmony as badly as Buffy had hurt him.
Yet maybe her idea wasn't all bad. She certainly seemed to know the score, and so he wouldn't have to worry about a nagging girlfriend. Besides, what was life without a girl to take out, to have fun with? Harmony would fit the bill, and it would be the first step to his new life.
Spike opened his eyes and glanced at the clock. The numbers read 8:45 a.m., so he decided to get up and go to his office. The last thing he wanted was to be like Angel, all brooding and Mr. Solitude.
No, it was time to remember who he really was. He was Spike, the Big Bad himself, who was the only vampire to ever seek out a soul just because he wanted it. He wasn't cursed, he wasn't prophesized about. He could make his own choices, so maybe it was time he did that.
***
"Good morning, everyone," Spike said as he walked into Angel's office, where the rest of the team had assembled for a mid-morning staff meeting. "What evil is afoot in this fair city?" He took a seat at the conference table, and leaned back in his chair, resting his feet on the table.
"Spike, feet. Down," Angel said, not taking his attention from the pile of folders in front of him. "And I would have thought you'd still be sleeping off your hangover at this point."
"Or getting rid of Harmony," Gunn said with a snicker.
"Well, us hero types can't let our infirmities-or our pleasures-distract us from fighting the good fight," Spike said jovially.
Everyone at the table stopped whatever they were doing and stared at him. He just smiled at them, enjoying their confusion and attention. Finally, Fred said, "Spike, are you feeling all right?"
"Right as rain, Dixie," he said, finally taking his feet down from the table and leaning forward in his chair. "So, Angel, what's on today's schedule?"
Angel looked at him blankly, but then just shook his head and started speaking, bringing everyone up to speed about their latest clients. Spike listened, and occasionally offered his thoughts, but tried to stay in the background. Still, when the meeting broke up, Angel said, "Spike, I want a word."
"Sure, boss," he said cheekily as he dropped back into his chair.
Angel spoke to Gunn for a moment, and then came back to the conference table, sitting in a chair next to Spike. "So, you want to drop the act?"
"What act?" Spike said, hating this conversation already.
"You say last night that you're not going to run after Buffy, you then drink like a fish and leave with Harmony. Today, you waltz in here, acting like you're on top of the world. You haven't acted this annoying since you first arrived here."
"Well, maybe I've been playing an act for months, acting all lovesick and downtrodden, when really, I *am* this annoying," Spike said, leaning back in his chair.
"No one is this annoying, Spike, even you."
Spike got up and started pacing. "It's just . . . " His voice trailed off as he tried to figure out how to explain to Angel.
"You don't want to be like me."
Spike watched as Angel rose and walked over towards the windows, his back to Spike. "You want to try and get over Buffy, but you sure as hell don't want to do it like I did-brooding, staying quiet. You're going to be loud and cocky and arrogant and as different from me as you can be. But the end result is the same, Spike."
"And what's that?" Spike asked, mustering up his bravado.
Angel turned and looked over his shoulder at Spike. "You don't get over Buffy."
"For God's sake, mate!" Spike said, letting his anger out in his voice. "You loved Darla for over a century! You were willing to kill, with your soul, to stay with her. But you're saying some chit, that you barely knew, is the love of your life?"
Angel turned away, and went back to staring out the window. "Perhaps I loved Buffy because I saw Darla in her-what Darla could have been. Maybe I craved Darla so much because I wondered about what kind of innate goodness there was in her, and I wanted to know what I'd do if I found it. Doesn't matter. Darla is dead, because of Co-because of me, and Buffy and I can never be together. Psychologically, I think it's a bit healthier to consider Buffy the love of my life."
"Yeah, because you know you still have a chance with Buffy," Spike said with a snort.
"Perhaps," Angel acknowledged. "I don't care what you do, Spike. As long as you show up for meetings and hold up your part of the deal, you can act however you want. Just remember what I said."
"Sure," Spike said, feigning boredom as he stalked towards the door.
"Oh, and Spike? I suppose if I told you I didn't want you stealing my secretary for nooners, you'd still go ahead and do it?"
Spike grinned at Angel. "You know me too well."
As he left the room, he thought he heard Angel mutter, "Yeah, I do."
***
The first few weeks went well. Spike had settled down a bit after the first few days, when he realized he was starting to piss himself off. But that didn't mean he let all the attitude disappear-he just toned it down some, and even Angel seemed to accept his random sarcastic statements.
He didn't accept so easily Spike's requests to be paid. Angel protested that since Spike lived at the office, and got his blood through Wolfram & Hart, what need did he have to be paid? Spike refused to tell Angel, but held firm that if he was an employee, he should be paid; what he did with the money was his business.
Spike didn't make any statements about leaving the firm; he knew that he'd stay regardless of Angel's decision. But that didn't mean he couldn't make Angel's life miserable, until he agreed with Spike. Much to his delight, Angel started groaning whenever Spike appeared in his office, and his grandsire was always eager to send him out on W&H business that got him out of the office. The breaking point came during a meeting with the D'Tissa clan, when Spike walked into Angel's office and started picketing for equal pay for equal work. Spike knew exactly what he was doing; the D'Tissas were sticklers for fair labor practices, and they wouldn't be too happy to learn that their lawyers weren't equally particular. Angel had no choice but to agree to Spike's demand for a salary.
With his first paycheck, Spike blew it all on smokes, booze, and a weekend at the vampire's equivalent of the Santa Anita racetrack. At least, that's what he wanted Angel to think. He had secretly stashed some of his pay in a bank account, putting aside the money for the plan he was developing.
His next paycheck, Spike put half of it in the bank, and then took Fred out to dinner. He hadn't spent as much time with her lately as he had when he had first appeared in L.A., and he found he had missed her. So he took his favorite scientist to a nice restaurant, where they had a great time catching up.
Fred had been happily regaling him with stories about Knox, when she suddenly stopped in mid-stream and switched gears. "Spike?"
"Yeah, pet?" he asked, pouring the last of the red wine into his glass.
"Well, it's just that I was wondering, and of course, you don't have to tell me if you don't feel comfortable talking about it, but I think you need to talk about it. Although maybe you're entering a strong silent period, which would be really odd because 'silent' would never describe you, I think . . . " Her voice trailed off, and Spike couldn't help smiling at the embarrassment on her face.
"So, you want to talk to me about something?" he said, trying to stifle his laughter.
She nodded. "Yes. It's about . . . well, it's about Buffy."
At her name, Spike sat back in his chair, and sighed. "Fred, if you're asking if I took you out tonight so I could spill my guts about Buffy, out of the hearing of Angel, that's not the case."
"No, I'm not asking that, although now that you mention it, that's a good reason to talk about this now. No, it's just that . . . you're asking Angel for money, you're having afternoon delight with Harmony, and you're all snarky again. Have, have you heard something from Buffy?"
"If you think Buffy had contacted me, Harmony would be the last woman in the world I'd be sleeping with, Fred."
She bit her lip, but pressed forward. "Just because Buffy contacted you didn't mean it would necessarily be good news."
"It'd be more likely that it'd be something I wouldn't want to hear, that's certainly true," Spike agreed. "But why do all these things combine to me being in touch with Buffy?"
Fred shrugged her shoulders. "You get sarcastic when you're covering your feelings. You did it when you first arrived, and now you're doing it again. You're sleeping with Harmony to forget about someone. And you're asking Angel for a salary, which I highly doubt you're blowing all on cigarettes. So, it makes me think you're planning something. Something like leaving," she said quietly.
"I may be able to leave L.A., but it's not like I'm gonna run off after Buffy." Spike paused, and looked at Fred. "Look, I get that you're concerned. And Dixie, I appreciate the concern. But there's nothing to worry about. I haven't heard anything from Buffy." He dropped his gaze to his plate, and pushed around the last of his filet mignon.
"So that's the problem? You haven't heard anything?" Fred said, her voice curious. "I mean, does she even know if you're alive? I mean, not dead? Oh, you know what I mean."
Spike grinned weakly. "Far as I know, she has no idea. And I think it's better if it stays that way."
"I'm sorry, but I just don't understand," Fred said, shaking her head. "Don't you want to let her know that you're back? At the very least, it'd be the polite thing."
Spike snorted. "Vampire, luv. 'Polite' isn't really in the definition of the word."
"Isn't there anyone that you'd want to get in contact with, though? Anyone that you didn't resolve everything? Words left unsaid?"
Spike looked away from Fred, trying not to start making a laundry list of regrets and wishes. If he started, he'd never finish.
"Spike, I'm sorry," Fred said. "I . . . I just wanted to give you a different perspective. When I got sucked into that portal to Pylea, I spent a lot of time at first just trying to survive. I didn't have time to think about home. But when I did, I spent a lot of time being miserable, thinking over all the things I should have done, could have done. It was the worst." She paused, but continued. "But, I needed to do that. I needed to remember my old life, to remember why I wanted to go home. I was lucky-I got to come home, and I could face my regrets. And I think you need to do that."
"Well, Fred, I'm not eager to think about all the times I fucked up, and all the people I have to apologize to. I'm not like you, since the worst thing you ever did was stay out past your curfew. I attacked Buffy. I stole and lied and cheated and killed, Fred. How can I make up for that? How?"
The waiter materializing at their table made him realize his voice had been raised loud enough for others in the restaurant to hear him. Spike sighed, and threw some cash on the table. "Come on, Fred," he said, holding out his hand to her. She gave him a long look, but then took his hand and allowed him to escort her out of the restaurant. They didn't say anything on the drive back to the office, and although Spike tried to apologize to her, Fred didn't let him. She merely put her fingers over his lips, and smiled at him, before heading off to the lab.
***
Spike tiredly walked into his office/living area. It had been a few weeks since his dinner with Fred, and since then, he had been feeling very unlike himself. He had broken things off with Harmony once and for all, much to his sanity's pleasure although not his libido's. But he had just gotten tired of dealing with her, even in a no-strings kind of way. Annoying bint, she was.
But it was other things, too. He kept returning to the conversation he had with Fred, much to his displeasure. The last thing he wanted to think about was all the things he'd fix if he could, but he couldn't seem to prevent his mind from returning to that topic. There were several times that he cursed Fred for putting the idea in his head. He had been doing all right, hadn't he? He'd been getting the job done, and even getting some enjoyment out of life. But now, he moped around, not even caring about his similarity to Angel. He hardly spent any of his paycheck, just putting it in the bank out of habit. Thanks to that habit, he was building up a tidy nest egg, one that he could use to travel or invest or have a grand time in Vegas. Yet he couldn't work up the will to do any of those things.
He tossed the duster over a chair, and sank down on the matching sofa. He had been dealing with a gang of Chrisjourno demons earlier today and they had taken a lot out of him. All he wanted to do at this point was drink some blood, catch the footie game on the satellite, and get some sleep. Maybe if he was able to sleep a bit, he'd stop thinking more about Buffy than he had in the last year.
He had just pulled himself over to the refrigerator, pulling out a bag of blood, when a knock sounded on his door. He sighed, but called out, "Come in."
The door opened, and Wesley poked his head inside. "Hello, Spike. I was wondering if you were planning on watching . . .?"
Spike sighed again and squeezed the blood into a mug. "Becks is playing, isn't he? Of course I'm watching. Pull up a bit of sofa." He heated up his blood, and when it was finished, took a seat in the armchair.
They were quiet during the first quarter, with occasional shouts at players or the referees. However, Spike kept sensing Wes glancing over at him, and he finally snarled, "Spit it out, Wes."
Wes shifted on the sofa. "Fred talked to me a few days ago, saying that the two of you had gone out to dinner, and she was worried that she had upset you. She asked me to speak with you."
Spike groaned. "Meddling woman." He sat forward in his chair. "Fred went poking her nose in things she shouldn't have, and as a result, I'm right brassed off. Not at what she did," he assured Wes. "No, I'm mad about how I feel about what she said."
"I assume this is about Buffy."
Spike jumped up from the chair with a shout of frustration, and began pacing around the room. "You see, that's what I mean. You know, my sun doesn't rise and set on Buffy! There were other people I cared about, that I'd like to talk to. But no, Buffy is the only person I think about according to all of you around here. But I can't talk to Dawn, or Red, or even Giles, because Miss High and Mighty Slayer can't be bothered to pick up the sodding phone and tell us where they are!" Spike paused, and let out a strained chuckle. "I even want to talk to Xander. I must be going crazy. Again."
Wes cocked an eyebrow. "I admit, the desire to talk to Xander Harris could easily be construed as insanity. But I'm curious--just what did Fred say, that has made you so irritable lately?"
Spike glared at Wes. "Irritable? You make me sound like a child."
"In fact, you've acted more like an infant. Sulking, fighting, screaming at the top of your lungs."
Spike stopped pacing and slumped back into his chair. Wes didn't say anything, waiting for Spike to speak. Finally, he found the words.
"I want to get over Buffy. Well, not want, exactly. More like I feel like I have to try, or else this second chance I got will have been wasted." He stared at his fingernails. "Remember how I told you about my mum? About what I did to her?" Wes nodded, and Spike continued. "I had blocked it all out, but the First picked over my memories and used a song my mum sang to me as a trigger. To get rid of the trigger, I had to face the memories. Face the fact that I turned my mother, and then I had to kill her, because she wasn't my mother anymore."
Wesley nodded sympathetically. "Quite a few fledglings through time have done the same, with similar results."
Spike pressed on, as if he hadn't heard Wesley. "Well, remembering all that, it made me feel like my own man again, you know? Breaking the trigger, yeah, was good. But even better was remembering that my mum had loved me. No matter what happened to me, I knew she had loved me, and I had turned her out of love. Knowing that--it gave me back my confidence, I guess. Dunno, really. I just felt different after that. Like I was becoming my own man. I told Buffy that, and I think she could see that," he said softly.
"So, now, in a sense, you're trying to figure out a way to de-trigger yourself of Buffy?"
"Lacking a better way to describe it, yes." Spike turned and looked at Wes. "Know you've been there, mate. Just wondering how you did it."
"Yes . . . Fred," Wes said, his voice tinged with a touch of emotion. "When she chose someone else, I had to decide which was more important: staying in her life, if only as a co-worker, or declaring my intentions and interfering in her new relationship, and potentially losing several friends as well as her. So I contented myself with her friendship. And sometimes I wonder if I made the right choice, in stepping back. But then I think about what she wanted, and my choice was already made for me."
A heavy silence fell over the room, and the sound of the television did little to lighten the dark mood both men felt.
Spike cleared his throat, trying not to reveal how close to tears he was in. Because he was crying on the inside, great heaving sobs. And while he knew he was going to sound like a choice git, the words still fell from his lips. "So, the fact that Buffy hasn't called Angel at all . . . guess that means she's happy where she is, and I shouldn't go mucking that up, huh?"
Wes didn't say anything in reply, only reached over and laid his hand on Spike's shoulder. Spike couldn't help the small sniff, and then he said, "Well, that's that. Least now, I know."
Wes removed his hand, and Spike leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes. "I had told myself over and over that I was moving on, but I don't think I believed it. Until now."
"Well, that's why they're called epiphanies. They strike out of the blue."
Spike groaned, and forced his attention to the television. Forced himself to concentrate on the movement of men and a black-and-white ball, instead of thinking of how he was letting go of his dream. For weeks, he thought he had put Buffy behind him, that he was dealing with his decision to let her go. He realized now that he had been running away from any thought of Buffy. And now, that he had faced up to his choices, he had gone with the only one that made sense.
The one where Buffy was happy.
***
Spike spent a lot of time alone after that evening with Wesley. Unlike before, when he was brooding-no way he could deny it, he'd seen Angel brood too many times not to know he had been doing the same-this time, he was thinking. About his life as a human, about the years he had spent as an 'evil thing', and about the months when he had been an anomaly: the only vampire in history to win back his soul. The events of the last six years weighed heavily on him: the time spent in Sunnydale, moping after Drusilla, hatching evil plans despite his chip, falling in love with Buffy, touching her body but never her heart, only to go too far. Then the time when his soul had put him through insanity and then slow recovery, only to have his body be nearly broken by the First. He had thought he was finally pulling things together at the end . . . he had broken the First's trigger, Buffy was reaching out to him, he was finally realizing what his place in the world was, and he had an inkling that it wasn't necessarily at Buffy's side.
But then, that last battle had come, and he had realized that his destiny laid along a different path than Buffy. She would keep walking her path, but his was finally coming to an end. He knew it the moment their fingers entertwined, right before he told her to go and sent her out of the basement. Before his body went up in a blaze of light. He had resigned himself, as soon as he took that horribly gaudy piece of jewelry from her, that he wasn't going to make it. And it was so damn hard to face, but he consoled himself with the thought that he was doing this for Buffy. She'd live, and go on, and have all the things he would have loved to have given her.
When he was returned to life, his first thought had been Buffy. He thought about how he would find her, and they'd finally have the time to figure out what there was between them, without the threat of evil and apocalypse hanging over their heads. He didn't completely expect a happy ending, but all he could think about was the chance, the possibility of the two of them being happy together.
Yet he was stuck in L.A., unable to touch or feel anything. He thought that once he became corporeal, he'd be able to find Buffy. But then he was solid, and he found that for some reason, he kept finding some reason to not leave. First it was the problems at the office, then he needed to help Lorne with a crisis in Pylea, then it was several cases that Angel asked for his help with. And before he knew it, a year had gone by and he was still in Los Angeles.
Maybe it wasn't a case of 'before he knew it'. Maybe his subconscious knew what it was doing all along. It was getting him ready for a time when he'd face facts and realize that Buffy and he would never be together. Of course, the situation had been helped by her inability to remain in contact with Angel. He would have told her that Spike had been returned, and who knows what would have happened then? But she hadn't called, hadn't written.
Love couldn't survive in a vacuum. His love for Buffy, despite his efforts to sustain it, had slowly been suffocated. He loved her, he knew. Would always love her. But the ache to possess her, to be with her, had faded away. He believed that she was in the world, happily living her life. That was all he had wanted for her. Once, he had wanted to help make that happen, but now, he was content knowing that she must be happy, because she was free from the Hellmouth and all the burdens of slaying.
So, if Buffy was happy, free from slaying, he was free, too. Free from his guilt over not finding Buffy, free from his shame that maybe he didn't measure up, after all. Free of his doubt over what kind of man he was.
He knew what he was now. He was a good man.
***
In the following days, Spike found a new confidence within himself. He finally started working with Wesley, helping with translations when asked. He had scorned Wesley's efforts to include him in the past, but now he found he enjoyed the book work.
But he still relished the patrols with Angel or Gunn, using his speed and skill to take out demons who thought they could take over the world. He got the same thrill out of using his fists as he did decoding an ancient manuscript.
He started having lunch with Fred weekly. At their first lunch, he thanked her for the care she had shown for him, and told her he appreciated it, even if it had been a hard lesson to learn. She had smiled at him, and told him she had confidence that he'd always be able to learn anything he needed to know, no matter how hard. The words were lovely to hear, but they weren't anything he didn't already know about himself.
His bank account was still growing, although he took some money out and bought himself some clothes. When Fred, who went with him to serve as his stylist, asked him why he was changing his look, he just said that he usually changed his look every twenty years or so. Fred had gotten a look on her face, but hadn't said anything as he picked out some pairs of black slacks and a variety of colored shirts, both pullover and button-down. She approved of the blue and red shirts, and made him put back a forest green shirt that would make him look "tubercular."
She also helped him pick out a new jacket to replace the duster. He decided that while he'd always keep that symbolic coat, he couldn't wear it anymore. But even Fred couldn't convince him to stop dying his hair. Still, he felt confident that his 'new look' wasn't that big of a shake-up.
He was wearing black slacks and a blue pullover on a sunny Tuesday morning when he entered Angel's office. He glanced up as he walked in, catching sight of Angel before redirecting his eyes to the open file folder in his hands. "Angel, we've got a problem. According to this translation, the Rite of Peesu-Brat is supposed to be held in two days, and it's not exactly a pleasant moonlight picnic for the forty humans who have to be sacrificed as part of the rite. We need to make some plans . . . "
Spike trailed off when he realized there was something going on. Someone else was in the room. He could feel his senses tingling in a way he didn't want to remember. He took a deep breath, and kept his eyes on the papers in front of him for a moment. Before he could look up, she spoke.
He heard a soft chuckle. "Hello, Spike. You're not surprised to see me, I think."
He swallowed, and looked up. There she was. She stood in a patch of sunlight, but to him, she outshone even the sun. He was finally able to find his voice. "Right as always . . . Buffy."
End, Chapter 2