Hope you all have been enjoying the story. It's coming to a close shortly, probably in the next chapter. Please review and tell me what you think because I'm thinking of doing a sequel.
To Catch a Thief
by Robinyj
"I'm squishing up my baby bumblebee, won't my mommy be so proud of me? I'm squishing up my baby bumblebee …" Spike stopped humming and finished off the chorus with a series of cheerful whistles, feeling extremely proud of himself and all his hard work.
Cor, Angel can be a git sometimes. Like I'm not going to go right back to Sunnydale and pay the Slayer back for giving away my hard earned ring in the first place. Then I can come on back to LA and Peaches and I are gonna have a nice looong chat ... with some more hot pokers.
The thought made Spike's smile widen even more, and his grin threatened to crack his face. Still whistling, he jumped for joy and actually clicked his heels together. Then he switched to another song and began singing again.
"It's a beautiful day in the neighbourhood, a beautiful day in the neighbourhood …"
His eyes lit up as he reached the end of the parking lot and stood at the edge of the parking doors. He was one step away from the sunlight.
It's only been a week since I walked in the sunshine but I miss it already. Maybe I am a softie, who bloody cares? There's no other vamp that gets to have this.
Taking a deep, unnecessary breath, Spike stomped out his cigarette and took his last step.
"Oh Mr. Sun, Sun, Mr. Shining sun, please shine down on meeeee Ahhhhhhhhhh!!!!"
Spike raced back into the protection of the parking lot and tore the duster from his back. He patted down his back and arms, desperately dousing the flames and stepped on his coat in an attempt to save it from the fire.
"Bloody, sodding, good for nothing, son of a biiiiiiiitch!!!!!!!!!" Spike screamed, irate beyond all reason. Though the fire was long since extinguished he jumped up and down on his coat like a little kid, attempting to vent his frustration.
The sun had burned him! It wasn't supposed to burn him. It was his friend when he had the ring on. Spike tore the ring from his finger and looked at it closely, he wasn't sure but he thought the stone looked like it was cut differently, and he was pretty certain he was sure because if it was the real ring he wouldn't have burst into flames like he had when he stepped outside.
"That manky, lying bastard. I'll rip out his heart and feed it to him," Spike promised as he ran back into the parking lot. But it was too late. When he got there the van was gone and he had no way to follow them.
Screaming in anger he punched a concrete wall and watched dispassionately as crack appeared in the stone and blood appeared on his hand. Spike sighed, his ire spent, and fell back bonelessly against the pillar. He pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and took a long, deep drag as he sunk down to the floor.
"Why? Why me? I mean, I follow the rules don't I? I keep my end of the bargains. What do the evil gods have against me? Are they jealous of my good looks? My natural athletic build? Well that's not my fault is it? You can't blame a bloke for that. It isn't fair." He muttered as he settled in for the day, knowing he couldn't go anywhere until nightfall.
Maybe Canada's nice this time of year. I could go there for awhile, taste myself some canucks, get some damn good beer. Yeah, that might be a plan.
But he doubted Canada held the answers he looked for. Though it couldn't hurt to look.
~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|~|
Doyle and Angel stood in shocked silence for a moment. Doyle looked to Cordy, hoping it was some sick joke, but her eyes held only pity and sadness. Angel released Doyle, allowing him to lean against the side of the van, and stepped towards Oz. He waved a hand in front of the musician's face and Oz's eyes, which were now an eerie, encompassing black, did not follow or acknowledge it. It was true, he couldn't see.
"Oh god no, no, this isn't right," Doyle began ranting, his own pain completely forgotten as he also stepped forward, "It can't be, can it? I mean, it's going to wear off right? Werewolves healing quickly and all that, one of the few perks of being part demon."
Oz shrugged, his stoic expression beginning to crack under the stress and terror of the situation, "I don't know, it's never come up before," he said softly.
"Oz, I'm so sorry," Angel said, deeply sympathetic and sincere. "You never should have been involved in this."
"No man, it's all right. We fight evil, we take risks. It was my choice to come along," Oz assured him but his voice was less sturdy than his words, "Don't even worry about it, I'm sure it's going to wear off … sometime."
Behind them Cordelia was almost in tears.
"We should probably get going," Doyle suggested after a long moment of silence.
Angel nodded, "Yeah, these guys are going to wake up soon. We better move. Cordy, can you drive?"
Cordelia took a deep breath to compose herself and replied yes. Angel helped Doyle into the back along with Oz, who insisted he'd prefer it back there with them. Cordelia sat down in the front and began looking the vehicle over, trying to find the lever to pull the seat up closer to the pedals.
"Oz, how do I move the seat?" Cordelia asked. Oz leaned forward as if to show her.
"Oh, it's right …" Oz stopped when he realized he could not see so could not show her himself. He gulped back the fear the realization brought and described it to her, "It's uh, it's on the left side, behind the seat belt."
Eyes filled with sympathy, Cordelia found the lever and pulled herself up. Just as she was about to try and move a scream of pain echoed through the parking lot, followed by an even louder string of cusses. Everyone's head shot up, looking for the source.
Unable to see, Oz asked, "What was that?"
Angel's lips quirked into an awkward smile, "I think Spike just tried to take his first step into the sunshine with his fake ring. We better get out of here."
Cordelia agreed and pulled the van forward, flinching when she heard the bumper fall off onto the ground as they moved out of the crash. Checking to make sure Angel was in the back, fully blocked off from all light, she drove out of the parking lot, not surprised to see the parking attendant, Karen, had left work early and the booth was unmanned.
In the back, Oz sat behind the passenger seat, his knees drawn close to his chest and his hands running through his hair every few seconds. Doyle and Angel watched him, unable to keep from feeling guilty and worried. Doyle, with Oz's coat still wrapped over his shoulders, shifted and flinched noticeably as the lacerations and bruises on his back woke up once more in the silence of the vehicle. Angel noticed and called him on it.
"Doyle, don't move. There's a first aid kit here somewhere I think…" Angel trailed off as he looked for it.
"Underneath the driver's seat," Oz supplied. Angel reached underneath and found it.
Doyle instinctively wrapped the coat tighter around him, "It's not that bad you know, don't worry about it."
Before Angel could reply Cordelia called out from the front, "So which hospital are we going to?"
"No hospitals!" Oz and Doyle called out simultaneously, the Irishman more emphatic than the laconic musician.
"What? Do you want to bleed to death or something?" Cordy demanded. After seeing how he reacted at Doyle's apartment she understood Oz's reasoning at least for not wanting to go; he was paranoid about infecting anyone else with his curse. But she knew of no reason why Doyle should want to avoid hospitals.
Doyle cast a desperate look to Angel; Cordy didn't know he was half-demon, and he didn't want to tell her – yet. But how else could he explain his inability to get regular human care?
"Look, they ask a lot of questions at those places and I don't have any real good answers to give them. Besides, I don't like hospitals. I've had some bad experiences." Doyle finished lamely, having no such qualms but hoping she'd fall for it. "And it's not like we have any way to pay for it either."
"Oh my god men are stubborn! Fine, bleed to death, infect to death, I don't care," Cordy huffed, accelerating.
"She gets a little grumpy when she doesn't get her way," Doyle pointed out to Oz, who smiled.
"I know." Oz said, and Doyle momentarily felt like a moron as he remembered that Oz had known Cordelia a lot longer than him.
"Suppose you would," Doyle trailed off and the silence returned to the vehicle.
"Not to darken the mood, cause you know, that can't happen, but what are Wolfram and Hart going to do when they find out we gave them a fake ring?" Cordelia asked from the front after a long silence.
Angel shrugged, "There's no way to know and I don't really care. I think one of their goons was conscious when I gave Spike the fake one, so they might think he has it."
"That'd be great, then he could have a fun little go around with the lawyers from hell," Doyle muttered vindictively from the back as he leaned against the cool surface of the van walls.
I doubt they'd catch him, Angel thought, but kept it to himself.
Eventually they arrived back at the Agency. Cordelia parked in an alley behind the building that blocked out the sun and they went in through the back. Angel helped Doyle out of the van and ordered him inside and to sit down as Cordelia guided Oz from the back of the van, explaining the landscape so he would know what to expect.
"Okay, garbage can on your left. You're good for a couple feet. Okay, we're at the door and now we're inside. And I think we're heading for Angel's office," Cordy supplied helpfully, wanting to do all she could.
"Thanks Cordy," Oz said, reaching all depths of sincerity. Cordy smiled and assured him it was no problem. When they reached the office Angel and Doyle were there, and it sounded like they were fighting.
"Look, I'm just tired," Doyle complained, laying down on the couch and wrapping the coat tighter around him, "Just let me grab 40 or 700 winks and I'll be right as LA's acid rain."
Cordy left Oz in the doorway and stomped over to the couch, grabbing Doyle's arm, "Oh no you don't, no sleeping. Possible concussion remember? Not that your thick skull would notice. So stay awake. And if you're not going to go to a hospital, like a sensible person, then you have to get bandaged up before you get worse." Cordelia was being bossy again and she knew it, but she was also concerned. "I'm not about to let you get all infected and feverish and dying on us when we worked so hard to get you here, so get up!"
"Fine, I'm coming," Doyle raised his hands in surrender, he was too tired to fight with her and she sensed that. Cordelia took one of the hands and helped him to his feet.
"Good, now let's get you cleaned up."
"You're going to patch me up?" Doyle asked incredulously, assuming she would be disgusted by blood, or think the entire thing was too 'icky' or something.
"Hey, I took a healthcare class in high school, and I nearly passed it so get moving," Cordelia demanded again as she tugged lightly on his arm. Oz heard their voices and footsteps come closer so moved farther into the room and out of the doorway, hoping not to hit a plant or something. Cordelia gave him a sympathetic glance as she passed and turned to Angel at the last second with a look indicating he had to take care of Oz.
"Oz, we're going to figure out what happened to you okay? There must be a spell or disgusting potion that can fix you up and we'll find it," she suddenly smiled mischievously at Angel. "That means you're in charge of research," Cordelia announced, then vanished down the hall with her patient.
"Research?" Angel spluttered, going after her a few steps, "Wait … I … I don't do research." He turned to Oz, "Have I ever done research?" Oz shrugged. "Yeah, Cordy I don't do research well."
"Deal with it," Cordy called out and disappeared.
"I think you just got volunteered," Oz remarked. Angel sighed.
"Yeah, gotta learn sometime I guess. Hey, uh, come sit down or something," Angel suggested, remembering Oz couldn't get around himself. He took hold of the musician's arm and led him to the couch.
"Thanks man."
"No problem."
Silence.
"Umm….." It was painfully clear Angel was extremely uncomfortable. Once again, he didn't do comfort well.
"Research," Oz recommended and Angel sat up.
"Right, research on the … freaky guy and the eye thing. Okay …" he ran his finger along several old books on a shelf behind him, quickly reading their titles. "So what was this guy a warlock or a mage … a wizard maybe?"
Oz had no clue, "I really don't know anything about the differences. I did notice something weird, he had one all blue eye and one all white one; there was no iris at all."
"Okay, that's something we can work with," Angel mumbled, not mentioning to Oz that his own eyes were now completely black.
"And he chanted."
"He chanted?"
"Chanted."
"What did he chant?"
"Um, it sounded Latin or something, it was right before he shot me or whatever he did. Something with cars. Cartote, carton, car, kar, kartoth. I think it was Kartoth." Oz said, relatively sure.
Angel's face was grim, "My Latin's a bit rusty, I don't know what that means."
"Willow would," Oz announced. Angel nodded.
"I'll give her a call," Angel offered but Oz wouldn't allow it.
"No, I'll do it. I'll have to tell her sometime I guess." He sounded defeated and Angel wouldn't allow it.
"Oz listen to me, I'm sure this is reversible, or temporary or something. There's an answer, and we're going to find it and you're going to see again. I promise." Angel said emphatically. Oz smiled, his gaze not quite on Angel's face and nodded. "We've never not found an answer to a problem, and we're not going to start batting out now."
"Thanks, but don't feel obligated or guilty or anything. I knew what I was in for when I signed up," Oz assured him, even though blindness had in fact never crossed his mind.
"I know, but I'm still going to help, it's just I'm more of a knocking heads kind of guy; research isn't really in me. You want to call now?" Oz nodded and Angel moved the phone next to the couch and then dialled for him. "I'll be in the hallway." The vampire said, moving out of the room but unable to get much farther than the doorway. Feeling bad for eavesdropping, he stood in the hallway and listened; Oz's voice was clear, if somewhat shaky, and after several rings he could faintly hear Willow on the other end.
"Will?"
"Oz, hey. How's LA? Is your van fixed yet?"
"It is and it isn't. It's a long story. I'm uh …" His voice cracked and faded. He couldn't tell her.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing. It's just, I'm helping Angel with a case here and then I'll be home, as soon as possible. But it might be awhile."
"Oh, okay. Does he need Buffy or the rest of us, cause there's nothing really …"
"No. It's nothing huge like that. We just needed your help with something. Do you know what 'Kartoth' means? If it were used in a spell or something?"
"I think it's Latin. Roughly translated it means something like "to block from sight". I don't know what that would be in a spell though. You're not fighting something that's invisible are you?"
"No, it's nothing like that. Thanks babe, you helped a lot."
"You sure you're okay?"
His voice almost cracked, "Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired, it's been a long day. Tell Buff I said hi."
"I will. Love you."
"Love you too." He said quietly and then hung up the phone, careful not to miss the cradle. With a frustrated sigh that might have been half a sob he looked to where he remembered the window to be and willed his eyes to see, to see anything. But there was only blackness. Only the dark.
What if he never saw Willow again?
The thought struck him so hard it was like a blow to the chest. Rage and panic began to build up inside him and he stood up, intent on releasing his frustration but ran into the desk edge before he got two steps. He floundered for a moment, scared since no one was around, and he had had the wind knocked out of him. Then the rage returned and he pounded his fist hard against the desk and kicked the leg as he shouted:
"Uhh!!"
Then he turned to kick something else, but tripped over a stool and toppled to the ground.
"Dammit!" He exclaimed as he landed hard on his knees, and punched the floor in frustration. Then all the fight left him and he felt along the floor to the desk again and leaned against it, cradling his head in his hands. Oz stayed there for a long time, scared for the worst and terrified to hope for the best. And as he wondered how anyone could live like this, never seeing the world around them, tears of frustration and loss slipped from his sightless eyes.
Angel watched from the doorway, not even breathing to keep from making a sound, and knew he could offer no comfort to the young man, and also knew that he didn't want pity. And because he knew these things he walked silently away and left him to his grief.
TBC
Hey all, well the next chapter's the last one. This is the time I'd really like some responses cause I'm thinking of doing a sequel where Oz arrives during the episode "Hero" and keeps Doyle from dying and I wanted to know if anyone would be interested in that.
Anyway, on to my great reviewers, I appreciate you all J
Random Insane Person – Yes, I'm actually glad you didn't see the blind thing coming, I was worried it was predictable.
Greywolf Lupous – If I wrote a sequel it would have Oz and Doyle for sure. This was kind of a long wait, and I'm sorry but the holidays were hectic.
Sethoz – You'll have to wait and see. I might cure him, I might not. BTW – I loved your LXG fic, very nice.
Templa Otmena – I don't think this cliffie is as bad, hope you enjoy it.
Connor – Sorry, just Oz in this fic, it's not a full crossover with Buffy.
IceBlueRose – I could never "poof" Spike!! That's just wrong. But this did take longer than I thought it would, the next, and final, chapter will be out in a few days, I promise.
That's it for me. Hope to hear from you. Robinyj