Spike was feeling a bit left out. There were Angel and Gunn, happily
embracing a girl he remembered to be a stuck-up bitch. Apparently, life in
the big city really does change a person. On top of the unpleasant
memories, was the fact that not even his vampire-heightened senses could
catch a whiff of Cordelia. She wasn't alive, in any sense of the word. He
decided he should say something.
"Hey, Cordelia," he tried, scratching his head nervously. The seer turned to him, her radiant smile dropping a few notches. "Oh, hello Spike. You don't need a hug too, do you? I mean, I would. If, you know, you hadn't tried to kill my friends."
Spike took a step back, holding up his hands. "No, no that's alright."
"Yeah, and don't mind if I don't hug you either," came a voice from behind, "It's just, I barely know you..."
Angel spun quickly on the spot, though he already knew whom the voice belonged to. It was one he hadn't heard for years, not since that day in the harbor where its owner died to save every human-blooded creature in a quarter mile.
Doyle.
The Irish half-demon. He had come to Angel not long after the vampire settled down in LA. It was he who had had the mind numbing, seer-like visions that he had passed on to Cordelia before he died.
Angel's first friend after leaving Sunnydale. Doyle.
He was lounging on the steps, clearly impressed by the hotel. "This is definitely better than the old place," he said, clearly speaking of Angel's first apartment, "this is the kind of upscale digs I was talking about, man. Something big and fancy to impress the ladies." Angel continued to stare.
"Come on, don't look so shocked. You thought that only Cordelia was going to appear, did you? Typical." He chuckled good-naturedly.
Angel's face broke out into a smile. "Doyle! Your back!" he seemed to be trying to convince himself. Doyle shrugged, saying, "well, not back back, we can only stay for a bit."
"That is regretful," Illyria piped up. It was impossible to tell whether she was serious. The ex-goddess did look a bit perturbed. It was understandable; she was even more out of the loop than Spike and Gunn, having never met Doyle or Cordelia. It could also have just been her naturally grumpy mentality.
"Wesley told me this one died," she said, stepping so close to Cordy that they were almost nose-to-nose, "I don't know the Irish man."
Cordelia coughed, fanning the air in front of her, "First of all...breath mint? Look into it, Blue." She said, glancing at Illyria's unusual hair color. The Goddess clenched her fists but said nothing.
Spike decided to take another stab at the conversation. "Speaking of Wesley, any of you, um...dead folks seen him?" In the confusing and painful events of that night, Wesley's death had been shunted aside in the minds of Angel Investigations. Now, it hit hard and home. Gunn and Angel stared at the ground and Illyria turned her face away. She had been the one with Wesley when it had happened, and only she knew what had passed between them, and it would stay that way. "Ah, come on," Cordelia said in a 'duh' tone of voice, "you didn't think that death would get someone like Wesley down, did you? Believe me, wherever he is, he's happy." She patted Angel softly on the back. Illyria raised her head. "He's with her." She said flatly, "Fred, my shell. He loves her, it was very apparent. He will be happy in his next life." Cordelia nodded in agreement. The room was silent for a moment, a lament for the dead.
"Sorry, but we should really should get on with things," Doyle said, a little left out from the proceedings. Suddenly, Cordelia was all business. She sat down on the stair beside Doyle. "Guys, I'm impressed. Taking out the Circle of the Black Thorn. Really ambitious." She said this with a smile, but it was a bit forced- looking, as though she didn't really mean what she was saying. Angel picked up on it at once. There was something Cordelia had to tell them, something she didn't want to tell them. Angel instantly knew it was something bad. "But..." he said, prompting her. "But," Cordelia began, avoiding the vampire's gaze, "The Powers are... well. They're a little upset." This irked Angel somewhat. His friends, his only family had risked life and limb doing the power's work. One had died. "Why are they upset?" he asked, his tone a bit harsher than he meant it to be, "we only destroyed the most horribly evil alliance in our dimension!" Cordelia's voice instantly became defensive. "Hey, it's not like they aren't grateful, it's just you did something that they, umm, didn't want done." And suddenly, Angel understood. He didn't want to understand, it was too awful for words, but he knew why the Powers were angry. "The battle," he choked out slowly, "against the Circle. That wasn't my ultimate battle." He turned to his friends, who were just standing there, looking confused. "That wasn't the end, guys. I was wrong." "Great!" Spike burst out sarcastically, "really splendid. All that drama for nothing, and plus, Captain Forehead signed away all the humanity." The vampire sat moodily down on the dilapidated couch. Angel however, just shuffled his feet uncomfortably. Cordelia, who knew him better than anyone else, knew the look he was wearing. "Angel," she said warily, "the prophecy, you signed it away, didn't you?" Before Angel could respond, Illyria stepped in, holding out a long roll of parchment to her leader, "Here is the prophecy, Angel," she said. It took a few moments for the statement to sink in, and then everyone began talking at once. "You have it?" "Why didn't you say so?" "I thought the circle had it!" "Who did you get it from?" Illyria smiled; a rare occurrence. "One of the men I killed, he had it. I plucked it from his hands, just as I plucked his still-beating heart from his chest." Angel took it from her, stared at if for a few seconds, then said, "Uh, guys, I don't think I signed it away." The room turned to look at him. "But I saw it!" Illyria insisted stubbornly, "There was a name written in blood." Angel didn't respond to her, but then said, "Hey!" as Spike jerked the prophecy from his hands. "Let's see," the English vamp proclaimed melodramatically, "I hereby blah blah, in the company of blah, disclosed blah blah blah, signed... Archie," he looked up, "Archie?" Cordelia began to laugh. It was obvious what Angel had done. He had signed the scroll with a name similar to his, and because his handwriting was less than impressive (though he argued to the contrary) no one had been able to see the difference. It was funny though, even if they couldn't read it, an organization that boasted ultimate power should have been able to see through that kind of ruse. Though it disturbed her, Cordelia said nothing on the subject. Instead, she chuckled, "Archie? Really witty Angel. Archie." "You know, I always thought you looked a bit like an Archie," Doyle put in playfully. Spike laughed along with the rest. Though the "Archie" thing was close to ridiculous, it was a load off his mind that Angel hadn't given up the possibility that one of them could become human. Whatever battle the Power's messengers were talking about, it was probably the time when he would be given the chance to prove himself. He was ready. And it seemed that Cordelia was ready to talk about it. "This place," she began, making a sweeping motion with her arms, "It's a holding dimension, like the one the partners were keeping Lindsey in. They knew that it was a place you all would be comfortable in." "I'm not comfortable," piped up Illyria. Cordelia fixed the Goddess with a cold glance. "Too bad. You were never taken into account. The Powers planned on transporting Angel, Gunn, Wesley, Fred, and Lorne here. The real Angel investigations." "What about me?" Spike asked, feeling left out again. "Nobody counted on you coming. According to the cosmic balance, your job was done. Whoever brought you back was a different power than the, uhh, powers." This wasn't a shock to any of them. Lindsey had practically spelled out that Spike had been brought back for the purposes of evil, just as Angel had been brought back, 5 years ago. The vampire tried to not let it get him down. "And you were never supposed to exist," Cordelia went on, speaking to Illyria with obvious dislike, "you were never supposed to kill Fred." A flicker of emotion went across Illyria's face. "I did not choose to kill her, my High Priest did. He was an idiot," she added as an afterthought. "Right," Cordelia said, some of the old Sunnydale bitch in her eyes, "I'm sure you had nothing to with it. Anyway, you weren't supposed to be here, Lorne wasn't supposed to leave and-," "Wesley wasn't suppose to die," Angel finished, eyes to the floor. "Right," Cordy agreed slowly, eyes on her former leader, "and without them, you don't have much chance in the grand finale. You need backup, and there's only one group of people who can help you."
Spike didn't at all like where this was going. Another huge battle, and he didn't need Cordelia's next words to know who the only ones that could help them were.
"The Slayers," Cordelia said, confirming Spike's thoughts, "Buffy and her gang are the only beings with enough power to defeat the Senior Partners."
"No," Spike whispered. There must be another way; we don't need her. The Slayer was his one true love, and he had died to save her and the rest of her world. For all he knew, she was perfectly happy and didn't need Spike's presence to complicate her life.
Before he had died back in Sunnydale, she had told him she loved him. Spike wanted so much to believe that it was true, but he knew how his luck went.
Doyle was standing up and glancing at his watch. "Okay kids," he said, "It's about that time," Angel jumped up as well. "About what time?"
"In about..." Doyle looked at his watch again, "10 minutes, the Powers will do you another little service. They'll get you strait to Roma." "What, you mean more dimension hopping?" Gunn asked, looking alarmed at the thought.
The minutes ticked by, as the group waited to be thrown into another exciting, and possibly horrible, adventure. Looking up, Angel realized that Cordelia had sidled over while he was lost in thought. She sat down next to him, her eyes moving over the other members of the team, all apparently absorbed in their own thoughts. Gunn was walking slowly around the offices and workstations, obviously growing nostalgic. Illyria was standing upright and rigid, her eyes closed. Angel knew she was 'preparing herself for battle', as she had been known to do it before. Spike was just standing in the middle of the lobby silently; so different from how he used to be.
"Strange times, huh?"
Angel laughed. It sounded strained and heartless, even to his own ears. "You got that right," he sighed. He glanced at Cordelia, who was looking straight at him, a worry line between her eyes.
"Angel, what's wrong?"
What a question.
"Everything, Cordy," the vampire said, "everything. I've done some really stupid things since you've been gone. I've let Fred die, and she didn't deserve that kind of pain. I let Wesley die, and he was my best friend. I mean, besides you."
Cordelia put a hand on his arm. She wasn't a ghost, but he could tell she wasn't really here. This was just a shadow of Cordelia Chase, whom the world would never truly see again.
"Angel," she said, "you let no one die. Fred's death was out of your hands." Angel put his head in his hands, his words becoming muffled. "I let her die. I had a choice, and I let her die. You can ask Spike, he was there..."
Cordelia pulled his hands gently away from his face, until he was looking at her. "I don't want to ask Spike, I want to ask you. Why did you choose to let her die?" Tears were now apparent in Angel's eyes, as he was forced to think back to one of the worst memories of his life, which, in the life of Angelus, was saying something. "I-If I had saved her, Illyria's spirit would have ripped apart the lives of everyone between LA and England."
Cordelia smiled weakly. "There, you see? Fred would have wanted you to make that choice. She, like the rest of us, dedicated her life to saving people," she paused. "So did Wesley"
"But that's just it!" Angel burst out, "All of us, we were all supposed to die for the cause tonight. I was supposed to be... supposed to be free."
"Do you really want to die that much, mate?" Doyle, who had sat down quietly beside them, asked.
Angel thought for a moment, trying to think of the best way to phrase the answer. "I don't want to die, but I don't want to live either. It's too hard... I've been doing it for almost 250 years. Enough already. I've lost you two, and I've lost Wesley. The four of us were the real Team, and you guys are all gone and I..."
"You think you should be too," Cordelia put in gently.
Angel nodded.
"It's not time for you yet, mate, you've still got a lot to do. But," Doyle looked at his watch, "It is time for you to get going."
He and Cordelia stood up, backing towards the stairs. "Get ready, all of you."
Angel stood there, as they retreated farther into the hotel. "Cordelia!" he called suddenly. The seer looked at him, an un-readable expression on her face.
"I'll always love you." he said quietly. Cordelia smiled, and then was gone.
And then, the whole room was gone. Spike stiffened as he felt the familiar sensation of floating away in a swirl of color. Suddenly, he heard a voice echoing in his head, a familiar voice. "Can you face your demons?" it asked.
Memories began to fly through Spikes mind. Memories of a hundred years ago, and memories of only a few minutes ago. He saw William standing in an ally as Drussilla approached, he saw a Nazi flag flying over a battle- torn field. He saw Angelus and Darla, a dead woman on the ground, he saw Cordelia speaking to him in the hote, he saw Sunnydale.
And he saw her.
All of a sudden, the pictures paused, and Spike felt himself being drawn into a particular memory...
Sunnydale, California 2001
Spike stood in the alleyway, shuffling his feet impatiently. The night was getting on; he could almost smell the sunrise. Darkness would only last a few more hours.
Where the hell was she?
Studying up on Sunnydale's latest featured demon, he thought to himself, Frost Monsters.
Spike snorted, flicking his cigarette butt to the ground. The only real way to hunt demons was reconnaissance, but Buffy had already turned him down on that front.
And on several others as well.
He didn't lose hope though; it was only a matter of time. Eventually, her friends would see the Slayer's true self, and they would abandon her. She would have nowhere to go, but to him, and he would never abandon her.
As much as Buffy tried to hide it, her level of twitchiness around Spike had increased lately. The kiss outside the Bronze during that bloody musical incident could be overlooked; they had all been under a spell, but even she couldn't deny what had happened in the Bronze.
Whenever he tried to bring up the subject, she would simply kick him in the head and run off, and he couldn't retaliate.
Everything was different now.
The jingling of the bell on the Magic Box's door caused Spike to snap back to attention. There were the future Mr. And Mrs. Harris (why Anya was marrying that git, he had no idea, she could do a lot better) and Buffy, following close behind.
She stood there, the light from a streetlamp illuminating her face, and Spike would have caught his breath if it had been possible. She was so beautiful...
"Goodnight, guys," she called, turning away from Xander and Anya, and heading towards Spike's alley. The vampire shrank back into the shadows, letting Buffy pass by him. He waited a few moments, than followed.
He purposely stomped along noisily; it was never a good idea to sneak up on a Slayer, no matter how friendly you were with her, and he wasn't in the body part-losing mood.
Buffy halted, obviously hearing his loud clomping. "And now my night is complete," she said with an exasperated sigh." Spike smiled from behind her back. Not complete yet, he thought.
"Slayer, you never showed."
Buffy continued on her way, not seeming to mind that Spike had fallen into step behind her. "Sorry," she said sarcastically, "I was too busy actually doing stuff." She had cut him down, but Spike wasn't willing to give up that easily. He decided to keep going with the dangerous vamp vibe.
"You might want to be more careful..."
"Ooh, what'ya gonna do, walk behind me to death?"
Spike smiled to himself again, and in three long strides, was blocking her path. "I'm just saying that something could be different..."
Suspicion crept over Buffy's face for a moment, than receded. She rolled her eyes and said, "Enough." It was clear she was tired and simply wanted to get home.
Spike didn't move.
A slow smile spread across Buffy's face, the kind of smile that turned your blood to ice. "Get out of my way" The words were laced with danger, but Spike, as was like him, plowed on.
"Or you'll what?"
Buffy pretended to think on it a moment, shrugged, and punched him full in the face.
He staggered back a bit, resisting the urge to clamp a hand to his nose. Turning back to her, he followed the Slayer's example. Buffy, who hadn't expected any retaliation, crumpled to the ground.
"Oh, oh the pain," Spike spat sardonically, "is gone." Buffy climbed slowly to hr feet. The expression she bore had changed from aggravation, to fear.
"Guess what I just found out?" Spike asked in a rhetorical fashion, "Guess I'm not as toothless as you thought, sweetheart."
Buffy stood as if frozen, her eyes roving from the ground to Spike's face. She touched a hand to the bruise that was already forming on her cheek, gasping, "H-how?"
Spike laughed, panting out of sheer exhilaration. At last, at long last, Buffy was under his power. He could show her who William the Bloody really was. Not that he wanted to kill her..."
"H-How?" Buffy repeated Buffy.
"Don't you get, don't you see? You came back wrong!"
The effect these words had on the Slayer was incredible. She blanched and her eyes filled with hate. Not hate for Spike, hate for herself. The thought that something about her was less human now, seemed to be too much to handle in her already screwed-up life. Ever since Willow had pulled her back into the physical world, it had been something she'd feared.
"You're wrong," she told him jerking away, "you did something to the chip, it's a trick!"
Spike shook his head earnestly. "Not the chip, it's you," he punched her again, sending her staggering back, still in shock, "Just you in fact. Came back a little less human than you thought, huh?"
Buffy yelled something incoherent, and hit him back. "You're wrong," she repeated.
The alley was a classic place for a fight. Dark and dirty, it stank of garbage and years of neglect. On the right was a chain link fence, separating it from the street that led to the more desirable part of town. On the left side was an old, crumbling house, which looked like it had seen better days.
Buffy's eyes were unfocused, and Spike wondered if he had overdone it a bit. But a moment later, her foot caught him in the stomach.
"You're wrong," she whispered yet again. She took another swing, just missing him as he ducked under her arm. "You're wrong!" This time she shouted it, as if she were trying to convince herself.
"Then why are you so spooked, love?" Spike asked derisively, "and why can I do this?" he punched her hard, sending her to the ground again. Taking a few steps back, he waited until she had pulled herself back up, using the fence as a support. He wanted to give her a chance, and didn't plan on hurting her. He wouldn't be able to handle it if she died again.
"You're wrong!" she screamed, her voice echoing up and down the narrow alley. She kicked Spike as hard as she could, sending him careening back into the door of the dilapidated house. Before he could move a muscle, the she rushed him, causing them both to tumble into the building, as the rotted door way.
Both were back on their feet immediately, neither wanting to give the other the advantage.
They were standing in what once might have been a living room. Horribly flowered wallpaper was peeling off the walls, and the floorboards had begun to curl up around the edges. A decrepit chandelier hung from the grimy ceiling.
With a running jump, Spike grabbed the chandelier, using his swinging momentum to kick Buffy the ground. His acrobatics caused several tiles to dislodge themselves from the ceiling.
"Oh, poor little lost girl!" he chuckled, "All alone, she's got no one to love." He strode over and pulled her up by the collar, but didn't count on Buffy's elbow smashing into his face.
Getting the upper hand at last, the Slayer tossed Spike into a rotted staircase, where he crashed through the banister.
"What about you, you idiot?" she asked, keeping her distance as Spike dug himself out of the debris, "Poor Spikey, can't be a human, can't be a vampire. Where the hell do you fit in?"
Spike stood up, dusting himself off, but Buffy was on a roll now. As he ran at her, she simply flung him into the remains off a fireplace. He hit the old bricks at top speed, crumbling them to dust. Stars blinked in front of his eyes, a rare occurrence for a vampire. God, this girl was strong.
And Buffy wasn't finished yet. "Your job is to kill the slayer, but all you can do is follow me around, making mooneyes!"
Spike gave her a piercing look. "I'm in love with you," he said fiercely, propping himself up. Buffy laughed hysterically, "You're in love with pain! Face it, you like me because you enjoy getting beat down. So really, who's screwed up?"
She was speaking the truth; violence was how Spike's kind showed
affection.
Killing a victim was an almost sexual experience, which was why most male Vampires only bit girls, and vice-versa.
Being the slayer, Buffy should know that.
"Hello, I'm a Vampire!" Spike grunted, kicking Buffy in the face, and sending her toppling to the ground again, "I'm supposed to be treading on the dark side!" Standing over her, he grabbed the front of her jacket. "What's your excuse?" He brought his mouth close to her neck, not knowing whether he wanted to bight her or not. She didn't give him the chance to decide.
Using the heel of her hand to butt his face back, she kicked him in the stomach using both feet. Very Matrix.
He flew off and hit yet another wall, causing the house to come yet more apart.
It would have been a very good time for Buffy to make her getaway then, but instead she jumped on Spike, who punched in the side of the head.
She's the most pacifistic person I've ever met, Spike thought to himself as they fought, that's why we're made for each other!
He knocked her into the same staircase he had previously been thrown against. "I wasn't planning on hurting you, much," he told her, emphasizing each word with a blow to the stomach.
Buffy caught his fist in mid-swing. "You haven't even come close to hurting me." Spike laughed, putting down his guard. "Afraid to give me the chance?" he asked.
The Slayer kicked, grabbed him by the shoulders, and pushed him into the nearest wall, so hard this time that a huge, wallpaper-covered chunk fell to the ground. Spike grinned evilly. "What? You afraid I'm gonna-,"
Before he could finish his question, Buffy grabbed his shirt, pulled him close, and pressed her lips against his. Spike's eyes filled with shock, but a moment later he was kissing her back.
Buffy spun around and pushed him towards the opposite wall. Just in time too, as the house had finally reached its damage limit, causing a huge piece if the ceiling crashed down exactly where they had been standing.
Neither of them noticed.
After all the times that evening Spike had been tossed against a wall, he would have expected to feel some slight discomfort, but the second Buffy kissed he had become icily numb to everything but her touch.
The building had begun to fall down, but the whole world might have been coming apart and Spike wouldn't have noticed.
But something was wrong. Something had to be wrong. What was the slayer doing? What of all the times he she had assured him that there would never, not in a million years, be anything between them. He was a vampire, a soulless thing that she would never touch. What in the hell was going on?
But as he felt Buffy in his arms, Spike found he didn't care, about what was going on or about anything else.
With a gasp, the Slayer pulled away from him, attempting to catch her breath. The fire in her eyes was dangerous, the most seductive look Spike could imagine. "Buffy?" he whispered.
Buffy didn't answer, only cuffed him on the side of the head, kissing him again.
With that final hit to his already beat-up body, Spike felt his legs give out. He fell backwards, Buffy with him. Together, they crashed through the rotten floorboards, hitting the lower level with a thump.
And they lay there, two broken lives in a broken house, surrounded by a broken world.
"Hey, Cordelia," he tried, scratching his head nervously. The seer turned to him, her radiant smile dropping a few notches. "Oh, hello Spike. You don't need a hug too, do you? I mean, I would. If, you know, you hadn't tried to kill my friends."
Spike took a step back, holding up his hands. "No, no that's alright."
"Yeah, and don't mind if I don't hug you either," came a voice from behind, "It's just, I barely know you..."
Angel spun quickly on the spot, though he already knew whom the voice belonged to. It was one he hadn't heard for years, not since that day in the harbor where its owner died to save every human-blooded creature in a quarter mile.
Doyle.
The Irish half-demon. He had come to Angel not long after the vampire settled down in LA. It was he who had had the mind numbing, seer-like visions that he had passed on to Cordelia before he died.
Angel's first friend after leaving Sunnydale. Doyle.
He was lounging on the steps, clearly impressed by the hotel. "This is definitely better than the old place," he said, clearly speaking of Angel's first apartment, "this is the kind of upscale digs I was talking about, man. Something big and fancy to impress the ladies." Angel continued to stare.
"Come on, don't look so shocked. You thought that only Cordelia was going to appear, did you? Typical." He chuckled good-naturedly.
Angel's face broke out into a smile. "Doyle! Your back!" he seemed to be trying to convince himself. Doyle shrugged, saying, "well, not back back, we can only stay for a bit."
"That is regretful," Illyria piped up. It was impossible to tell whether she was serious. The ex-goddess did look a bit perturbed. It was understandable; she was even more out of the loop than Spike and Gunn, having never met Doyle or Cordelia. It could also have just been her naturally grumpy mentality.
"Wesley told me this one died," she said, stepping so close to Cordy that they were almost nose-to-nose, "I don't know the Irish man."
Cordelia coughed, fanning the air in front of her, "First of all...breath mint? Look into it, Blue." She said, glancing at Illyria's unusual hair color. The Goddess clenched her fists but said nothing.
Spike decided to take another stab at the conversation. "Speaking of Wesley, any of you, um...dead folks seen him?" In the confusing and painful events of that night, Wesley's death had been shunted aside in the minds of Angel Investigations. Now, it hit hard and home. Gunn and Angel stared at the ground and Illyria turned her face away. She had been the one with Wesley when it had happened, and only she knew what had passed between them, and it would stay that way. "Ah, come on," Cordelia said in a 'duh' tone of voice, "you didn't think that death would get someone like Wesley down, did you? Believe me, wherever he is, he's happy." She patted Angel softly on the back. Illyria raised her head. "He's with her." She said flatly, "Fred, my shell. He loves her, it was very apparent. He will be happy in his next life." Cordelia nodded in agreement. The room was silent for a moment, a lament for the dead.
"Sorry, but we should really should get on with things," Doyle said, a little left out from the proceedings. Suddenly, Cordelia was all business. She sat down on the stair beside Doyle. "Guys, I'm impressed. Taking out the Circle of the Black Thorn. Really ambitious." She said this with a smile, but it was a bit forced- looking, as though she didn't really mean what she was saying. Angel picked up on it at once. There was something Cordelia had to tell them, something she didn't want to tell them. Angel instantly knew it was something bad. "But..." he said, prompting her. "But," Cordelia began, avoiding the vampire's gaze, "The Powers are... well. They're a little upset." This irked Angel somewhat. His friends, his only family had risked life and limb doing the power's work. One had died. "Why are they upset?" he asked, his tone a bit harsher than he meant it to be, "we only destroyed the most horribly evil alliance in our dimension!" Cordelia's voice instantly became defensive. "Hey, it's not like they aren't grateful, it's just you did something that they, umm, didn't want done." And suddenly, Angel understood. He didn't want to understand, it was too awful for words, but he knew why the Powers were angry. "The battle," he choked out slowly, "against the Circle. That wasn't my ultimate battle." He turned to his friends, who were just standing there, looking confused. "That wasn't the end, guys. I was wrong." "Great!" Spike burst out sarcastically, "really splendid. All that drama for nothing, and plus, Captain Forehead signed away all the humanity." The vampire sat moodily down on the dilapidated couch. Angel however, just shuffled his feet uncomfortably. Cordelia, who knew him better than anyone else, knew the look he was wearing. "Angel," she said warily, "the prophecy, you signed it away, didn't you?" Before Angel could respond, Illyria stepped in, holding out a long roll of parchment to her leader, "Here is the prophecy, Angel," she said. It took a few moments for the statement to sink in, and then everyone began talking at once. "You have it?" "Why didn't you say so?" "I thought the circle had it!" "Who did you get it from?" Illyria smiled; a rare occurrence. "One of the men I killed, he had it. I plucked it from his hands, just as I plucked his still-beating heart from his chest." Angel took it from her, stared at if for a few seconds, then said, "Uh, guys, I don't think I signed it away." The room turned to look at him. "But I saw it!" Illyria insisted stubbornly, "There was a name written in blood." Angel didn't respond to her, but then said, "Hey!" as Spike jerked the prophecy from his hands. "Let's see," the English vamp proclaimed melodramatically, "I hereby blah blah, in the company of blah, disclosed blah blah blah, signed... Archie," he looked up, "Archie?" Cordelia began to laugh. It was obvious what Angel had done. He had signed the scroll with a name similar to his, and because his handwriting was less than impressive (though he argued to the contrary) no one had been able to see the difference. It was funny though, even if they couldn't read it, an organization that boasted ultimate power should have been able to see through that kind of ruse. Though it disturbed her, Cordelia said nothing on the subject. Instead, she chuckled, "Archie? Really witty Angel. Archie." "You know, I always thought you looked a bit like an Archie," Doyle put in playfully. Spike laughed along with the rest. Though the "Archie" thing was close to ridiculous, it was a load off his mind that Angel hadn't given up the possibility that one of them could become human. Whatever battle the Power's messengers were talking about, it was probably the time when he would be given the chance to prove himself. He was ready. And it seemed that Cordelia was ready to talk about it. "This place," she began, making a sweeping motion with her arms, "It's a holding dimension, like the one the partners were keeping Lindsey in. They knew that it was a place you all would be comfortable in." "I'm not comfortable," piped up Illyria. Cordelia fixed the Goddess with a cold glance. "Too bad. You were never taken into account. The Powers planned on transporting Angel, Gunn, Wesley, Fred, and Lorne here. The real Angel investigations." "What about me?" Spike asked, feeling left out again. "Nobody counted on you coming. According to the cosmic balance, your job was done. Whoever brought you back was a different power than the, uhh, powers." This wasn't a shock to any of them. Lindsey had practically spelled out that Spike had been brought back for the purposes of evil, just as Angel had been brought back, 5 years ago. The vampire tried to not let it get him down. "And you were never supposed to exist," Cordelia went on, speaking to Illyria with obvious dislike, "you were never supposed to kill Fred." A flicker of emotion went across Illyria's face. "I did not choose to kill her, my High Priest did. He was an idiot," she added as an afterthought. "Right," Cordelia said, some of the old Sunnydale bitch in her eyes, "I'm sure you had nothing to with it. Anyway, you weren't supposed to be here, Lorne wasn't supposed to leave and-," "Wesley wasn't suppose to die," Angel finished, eyes to the floor. "Right," Cordy agreed slowly, eyes on her former leader, "and without them, you don't have much chance in the grand finale. You need backup, and there's only one group of people who can help you."
Spike didn't at all like where this was going. Another huge battle, and he didn't need Cordelia's next words to know who the only ones that could help them were.
"The Slayers," Cordelia said, confirming Spike's thoughts, "Buffy and her gang are the only beings with enough power to defeat the Senior Partners."
"No," Spike whispered. There must be another way; we don't need her. The Slayer was his one true love, and he had died to save her and the rest of her world. For all he knew, she was perfectly happy and didn't need Spike's presence to complicate her life.
Before he had died back in Sunnydale, she had told him she loved him. Spike wanted so much to believe that it was true, but he knew how his luck went.
Doyle was standing up and glancing at his watch. "Okay kids," he said, "It's about that time," Angel jumped up as well. "About what time?"
"In about..." Doyle looked at his watch again, "10 minutes, the Powers will do you another little service. They'll get you strait to Roma." "What, you mean more dimension hopping?" Gunn asked, looking alarmed at the thought.
The minutes ticked by, as the group waited to be thrown into another exciting, and possibly horrible, adventure. Looking up, Angel realized that Cordelia had sidled over while he was lost in thought. She sat down next to him, her eyes moving over the other members of the team, all apparently absorbed in their own thoughts. Gunn was walking slowly around the offices and workstations, obviously growing nostalgic. Illyria was standing upright and rigid, her eyes closed. Angel knew she was 'preparing herself for battle', as she had been known to do it before. Spike was just standing in the middle of the lobby silently; so different from how he used to be.
"Strange times, huh?"
Angel laughed. It sounded strained and heartless, even to his own ears. "You got that right," he sighed. He glanced at Cordelia, who was looking straight at him, a worry line between her eyes.
"Angel, what's wrong?"
What a question.
"Everything, Cordy," the vampire said, "everything. I've done some really stupid things since you've been gone. I've let Fred die, and she didn't deserve that kind of pain. I let Wesley die, and he was my best friend. I mean, besides you."
Cordelia put a hand on his arm. She wasn't a ghost, but he could tell she wasn't really here. This was just a shadow of Cordelia Chase, whom the world would never truly see again.
"Angel," she said, "you let no one die. Fred's death was out of your hands." Angel put his head in his hands, his words becoming muffled. "I let her die. I had a choice, and I let her die. You can ask Spike, he was there..."
Cordelia pulled his hands gently away from his face, until he was looking at her. "I don't want to ask Spike, I want to ask you. Why did you choose to let her die?" Tears were now apparent in Angel's eyes, as he was forced to think back to one of the worst memories of his life, which, in the life of Angelus, was saying something. "I-If I had saved her, Illyria's spirit would have ripped apart the lives of everyone between LA and England."
Cordelia smiled weakly. "There, you see? Fred would have wanted you to make that choice. She, like the rest of us, dedicated her life to saving people," she paused. "So did Wesley"
"But that's just it!" Angel burst out, "All of us, we were all supposed to die for the cause tonight. I was supposed to be... supposed to be free."
"Do you really want to die that much, mate?" Doyle, who had sat down quietly beside them, asked.
Angel thought for a moment, trying to think of the best way to phrase the answer. "I don't want to die, but I don't want to live either. It's too hard... I've been doing it for almost 250 years. Enough already. I've lost you two, and I've lost Wesley. The four of us were the real Team, and you guys are all gone and I..."
"You think you should be too," Cordelia put in gently.
Angel nodded.
"It's not time for you yet, mate, you've still got a lot to do. But," Doyle looked at his watch, "It is time for you to get going."
He and Cordelia stood up, backing towards the stairs. "Get ready, all of you."
Angel stood there, as they retreated farther into the hotel. "Cordelia!" he called suddenly. The seer looked at him, an un-readable expression on her face.
"I'll always love you." he said quietly. Cordelia smiled, and then was gone.
And then, the whole room was gone. Spike stiffened as he felt the familiar sensation of floating away in a swirl of color. Suddenly, he heard a voice echoing in his head, a familiar voice. "Can you face your demons?" it asked.
Memories began to fly through Spikes mind. Memories of a hundred years ago, and memories of only a few minutes ago. He saw William standing in an ally as Drussilla approached, he saw a Nazi flag flying over a battle- torn field. He saw Angelus and Darla, a dead woman on the ground, he saw Cordelia speaking to him in the hote, he saw Sunnydale.
And he saw her.
All of a sudden, the pictures paused, and Spike felt himself being drawn into a particular memory...
Sunnydale, California 2001
Spike stood in the alleyway, shuffling his feet impatiently. The night was getting on; he could almost smell the sunrise. Darkness would only last a few more hours.
Where the hell was she?
Studying up on Sunnydale's latest featured demon, he thought to himself, Frost Monsters.
Spike snorted, flicking his cigarette butt to the ground. The only real way to hunt demons was reconnaissance, but Buffy had already turned him down on that front.
And on several others as well.
He didn't lose hope though; it was only a matter of time. Eventually, her friends would see the Slayer's true self, and they would abandon her. She would have nowhere to go, but to him, and he would never abandon her.
As much as Buffy tried to hide it, her level of twitchiness around Spike had increased lately. The kiss outside the Bronze during that bloody musical incident could be overlooked; they had all been under a spell, but even she couldn't deny what had happened in the Bronze.
Whenever he tried to bring up the subject, she would simply kick him in the head and run off, and he couldn't retaliate.
Everything was different now.
The jingling of the bell on the Magic Box's door caused Spike to snap back to attention. There were the future Mr. And Mrs. Harris (why Anya was marrying that git, he had no idea, she could do a lot better) and Buffy, following close behind.
She stood there, the light from a streetlamp illuminating her face, and Spike would have caught his breath if it had been possible. She was so beautiful...
"Goodnight, guys," she called, turning away from Xander and Anya, and heading towards Spike's alley. The vampire shrank back into the shadows, letting Buffy pass by him. He waited a few moments, than followed.
He purposely stomped along noisily; it was never a good idea to sneak up on a Slayer, no matter how friendly you were with her, and he wasn't in the body part-losing mood.
Buffy halted, obviously hearing his loud clomping. "And now my night is complete," she said with an exasperated sigh." Spike smiled from behind her back. Not complete yet, he thought.
"Slayer, you never showed."
Buffy continued on her way, not seeming to mind that Spike had fallen into step behind her. "Sorry," she said sarcastically, "I was too busy actually doing stuff." She had cut him down, but Spike wasn't willing to give up that easily. He decided to keep going with the dangerous vamp vibe.
"You might want to be more careful..."
"Ooh, what'ya gonna do, walk behind me to death?"
Spike smiled to himself again, and in three long strides, was blocking her path. "I'm just saying that something could be different..."
Suspicion crept over Buffy's face for a moment, than receded. She rolled her eyes and said, "Enough." It was clear she was tired and simply wanted to get home.
Spike didn't move.
A slow smile spread across Buffy's face, the kind of smile that turned your blood to ice. "Get out of my way" The words were laced with danger, but Spike, as was like him, plowed on.
"Or you'll what?"
Buffy pretended to think on it a moment, shrugged, and punched him full in the face.
He staggered back a bit, resisting the urge to clamp a hand to his nose. Turning back to her, he followed the Slayer's example. Buffy, who hadn't expected any retaliation, crumpled to the ground.
"Oh, oh the pain," Spike spat sardonically, "is gone." Buffy climbed slowly to hr feet. The expression she bore had changed from aggravation, to fear.
"Guess what I just found out?" Spike asked in a rhetorical fashion, "Guess I'm not as toothless as you thought, sweetheart."
Buffy stood as if frozen, her eyes roving from the ground to Spike's face. She touched a hand to the bruise that was already forming on her cheek, gasping, "H-how?"
Spike laughed, panting out of sheer exhilaration. At last, at long last, Buffy was under his power. He could show her who William the Bloody really was. Not that he wanted to kill her..."
"H-How?" Buffy repeated Buffy.
"Don't you get, don't you see? You came back wrong!"
The effect these words had on the Slayer was incredible. She blanched and her eyes filled with hate. Not hate for Spike, hate for herself. The thought that something about her was less human now, seemed to be too much to handle in her already screwed-up life. Ever since Willow had pulled her back into the physical world, it had been something she'd feared.
"You're wrong," she told him jerking away, "you did something to the chip, it's a trick!"
Spike shook his head earnestly. "Not the chip, it's you," he punched her again, sending her staggering back, still in shock, "Just you in fact. Came back a little less human than you thought, huh?"
Buffy yelled something incoherent, and hit him back. "You're wrong," she repeated.
The alley was a classic place for a fight. Dark and dirty, it stank of garbage and years of neglect. On the right was a chain link fence, separating it from the street that led to the more desirable part of town. On the left side was an old, crumbling house, which looked like it had seen better days.
Buffy's eyes were unfocused, and Spike wondered if he had overdone it a bit. But a moment later, her foot caught him in the stomach.
"You're wrong," she whispered yet again. She took another swing, just missing him as he ducked under her arm. "You're wrong!" This time she shouted it, as if she were trying to convince herself.
"Then why are you so spooked, love?" Spike asked derisively, "and why can I do this?" he punched her hard, sending her to the ground again. Taking a few steps back, he waited until she had pulled herself back up, using the fence as a support. He wanted to give her a chance, and didn't plan on hurting her. He wouldn't be able to handle it if she died again.
"You're wrong!" she screamed, her voice echoing up and down the narrow alley. She kicked Spike as hard as she could, sending him careening back into the door of the dilapidated house. Before he could move a muscle, the she rushed him, causing them both to tumble into the building, as the rotted door way.
Both were back on their feet immediately, neither wanting to give the other the advantage.
They were standing in what once might have been a living room. Horribly flowered wallpaper was peeling off the walls, and the floorboards had begun to curl up around the edges. A decrepit chandelier hung from the grimy ceiling.
With a running jump, Spike grabbed the chandelier, using his swinging momentum to kick Buffy the ground. His acrobatics caused several tiles to dislodge themselves from the ceiling.
"Oh, poor little lost girl!" he chuckled, "All alone, she's got no one to love." He strode over and pulled her up by the collar, but didn't count on Buffy's elbow smashing into his face.
Getting the upper hand at last, the Slayer tossed Spike into a rotted staircase, where he crashed through the banister.
"What about you, you idiot?" she asked, keeping her distance as Spike dug himself out of the debris, "Poor Spikey, can't be a human, can't be a vampire. Where the hell do you fit in?"
Spike stood up, dusting himself off, but Buffy was on a roll now. As he ran at her, she simply flung him into the remains off a fireplace. He hit the old bricks at top speed, crumbling them to dust. Stars blinked in front of his eyes, a rare occurrence for a vampire. God, this girl was strong.
And Buffy wasn't finished yet. "Your job is to kill the slayer, but all you can do is follow me around, making mooneyes!"
Spike gave her a piercing look. "I'm in love with you," he said fiercely, propping himself up. Buffy laughed hysterically, "You're in love with pain! Face it, you like me because you enjoy getting beat down. So really, who's screwed up?"
She was speaking the truth; violence was how Spike's kind showed
affection.
Killing a victim was an almost sexual experience, which was why most male Vampires only bit girls, and vice-versa.
Being the slayer, Buffy should know that.
"Hello, I'm a Vampire!" Spike grunted, kicking Buffy in the face, and sending her toppling to the ground again, "I'm supposed to be treading on the dark side!" Standing over her, he grabbed the front of her jacket. "What's your excuse?" He brought his mouth close to her neck, not knowing whether he wanted to bight her or not. She didn't give him the chance to decide.
Using the heel of her hand to butt his face back, she kicked him in the stomach using both feet. Very Matrix.
He flew off and hit yet another wall, causing the house to come yet more apart.
It would have been a very good time for Buffy to make her getaway then, but instead she jumped on Spike, who punched in the side of the head.
She's the most pacifistic person I've ever met, Spike thought to himself as they fought, that's why we're made for each other!
He knocked her into the same staircase he had previously been thrown against. "I wasn't planning on hurting you, much," he told her, emphasizing each word with a blow to the stomach.
Buffy caught his fist in mid-swing. "You haven't even come close to hurting me." Spike laughed, putting down his guard. "Afraid to give me the chance?" he asked.
The Slayer kicked, grabbed him by the shoulders, and pushed him into the nearest wall, so hard this time that a huge, wallpaper-covered chunk fell to the ground. Spike grinned evilly. "What? You afraid I'm gonna-,"
Before he could finish his question, Buffy grabbed his shirt, pulled him close, and pressed her lips against his. Spike's eyes filled with shock, but a moment later he was kissing her back.
Buffy spun around and pushed him towards the opposite wall. Just in time too, as the house had finally reached its damage limit, causing a huge piece if the ceiling crashed down exactly where they had been standing.
Neither of them noticed.
After all the times that evening Spike had been tossed against a wall, he would have expected to feel some slight discomfort, but the second Buffy kissed he had become icily numb to everything but her touch.
The building had begun to fall down, but the whole world might have been coming apart and Spike wouldn't have noticed.
But something was wrong. Something had to be wrong. What was the slayer doing? What of all the times he she had assured him that there would never, not in a million years, be anything between them. He was a vampire, a soulless thing that she would never touch. What in the hell was going on?
But as he felt Buffy in his arms, Spike found he didn't care, about what was going on or about anything else.
With a gasp, the Slayer pulled away from him, attempting to catch her breath. The fire in her eyes was dangerous, the most seductive look Spike could imagine. "Buffy?" he whispered.
Buffy didn't answer, only cuffed him on the side of the head, kissing him again.
With that final hit to his already beat-up body, Spike felt his legs give out. He fell backwards, Buffy with him. Together, they crashed through the rotten floorboards, hitting the lower level with a thump.
And they lay there, two broken lives in a broken house, surrounded by a broken world.