Chapter 11
All Good Things
A/N: I'm so so sorry this chapter has taken so long. I've been busy, but that's no excuse. I've been lazy is closer to the truth. I promise not to take so long next time!!
Another big waffle of pages. Are these chapters miles to long? Tell me if they are, I don't mind hearing.
Um, in other news, second last chapter. Wow. Thanks for sticking with me so long, more thank you's and such next chapter.
As always, reviews welcomed and loved, criticisms even more so. I really want feedback and such. )
And of course, Merry Christmas!!
Containment cells were very unhomely places. White, cold and bare; they served only as cages for particularly dangerous demons and were not meant to be lived in. There was nowhere to sit, not even a bench like those found in human police cells, nor were there any beds, because the animals kept inside had no use for sleep. There was nothing in the cells at all. Except in Matilda's case.
Tilly's cell had a small bed, a closet full of children's clothes and a small trunk of toys, thought it was still unbearably bare. All of her possessions were white and stark, completely devoid of a child's natural mess and colour. This lifeless room had been Tilly's home since she was 2 years old and there was few places she hated more. However, as the unhappy property of Wolfram and Hart, Tilly had no where else to go.
Today she was escaping her cell, at least for a while. The Containments Department was running short handed that morning; all the staff had been called away to deal with a delivery of Shu-ton spiders, a rare breed of Japanese spiders which where extremely poisonous and capable of becoming invisible. With the new difficult arrivals as priority, Tilly had been left unguarded.
She knew from experience that her window of opportunity would be short. Wolfram and Hart was extremely well organised; she would not be forgotten for long. Her cell was never locked because she was allowed to use the bathroom down the hall, so she had no trouble leaving it. The trouble came in escaping the white walls of the Containment Department; all the exits were guarded and many of the corridors were patrolled.
Deciding on a plan of action, Tilly left her cell and started down the hall, past the bathroom. A few cells down, she changed her route and made a mad dash for the corridor on the left. New arrivals were in the South Containment Block, so that area would have to be avoided at all costs. There was an exit in the East Containment Block that was usually open. It was probably her best chance of escape.
Tilly took a deep breath and sprinted past the entrance to the South Containment Block, into the relative safety of the East Containment Block. The ECB, as it was known, housed medium level demons, from the explosive Kantuck fire goblins, to hell dogs and other magical pets. Tilly was used to these beasts, having lived with them for four years, but they still frightened her. However, the medium level demons in the ECB were much less scary than those animals kept in Dangerous Containment, in the West Block. Tilly hurried past the ECB cells, avoiding eye contact for fear of provoking the hell dogs and causing a racket. Such a commotion would alert the staff of her escape.
She spied the ECB exit and dashed to the door. Thankfully it was still unlocked. She eased open the heavy white door and slipped carefully though, out into the world beyond. Away from the oppressive starkness of the Containment Department, Tilly was filled with zeal and confidence. All she had to do now was find Spike, and that wouldn't be too hard, she had managed plenty of times before.
Even after years of exploring the halls and floors of Wolfram and Hart, Tilly had very little idea about the layout of the evil law firm. It was just too big a place to remember where things were. Thus, having no idea where she was going, she hopped in the elevator, pressed the highest button she could reach and hoped it would take her to Spike.
The lift stopped at level 16 and Tilly got out. She didn't recognise anything around her, it certainly wasn't the lobby near Angel's office, but she didn't mind. This new floor presented a chance to explore and discover new adventures. She would find the nearest staircase, she decided, and see if the next floor up was where Spike was.
The left corridor looked exactly the same as the right, so Tilly took it and began her search for a new path. It was a fairly boring corridor as far as she could see; no science labs or testing grounds to play in. There where also very few people around, none of the bustle of lawyers and demons found on some floors of Wolfram and Hart. Tilly liked to see the people, hurrying around the offices and doing important things. The demons could be scary sometimes. Perhaps it was good that no one was around, if no one was here to find her, then they couldn't take her back to Containment.
The corridor had been blank so far, a few nondescript grey doors blending into the walls, but up ahead a door stood ajar. Tilly crept carefully up to the door and peeped inside. There was no one there, so she decided it was safe to take a closer look. Stepping carefully into the room, she surveyed her surroundings. It was a fairly plane room, just a table and chairs in the middle. There wasn't any magic looking relics or glowy demon slimes here. It was kinda boring, and Tilly was about to leave when an un-seen door on the other side of the room swung open.
She dived behind the table as two orange scaly demons in dark red robes entered the room. They were talking in a language she couldn't understand, and clicking their sharp yellow clawed fingers together as they talked. Tilly held her breath. The demons, engrossed in their own business, didn't notice her crouched behind the table and walked straight pass. The demons however, weren't the worst of her problems. As they left the room, they shut the door behind them.
And the light went out.
The room was plunged into complete darkness, trapping Matilda in a room full of shadows.
Tilly could feel what was happening before she could see it. A part of her, the demon part, could sense the shadows beginning to move. They crept along her legs and her arms, tangling her in their smoky web, holding her tight so she couldn't move. She tried desperately to free her arm and reach the little torch she kept in her pocket for emergencies, but the shadows held her fast. They were so strong, pinning her arms to her sides with a force well beyond that any mortal power could exsert. She tried to cry out, but the black shadow filled her mouth till she began to choke. Then the voices started.
"It's a freak of nature," the man's voice said.
"Please," the woman pleaded, "she's our daughter."
"That thing it not my daughter." He spat "We don't have witches and demons in my family! This is your fault, you disgusting woman."
Alone in the dark, Tilly began to cry. When ever she was alone, the voices would come, always the same voices. Her parents. The fight. It was the only thing she remembered about them. How they had fought about her, how they had been disgusted by her, how they had given her away.
"I'm sorry." Sobbed the woman, "Please don't go. Please Nick."
"Either she goes, or I go."
The woman sniffed, and Tilly saw the black shadow of her mother dry her eyes, "She'll go, I promise, I'll get rid of her."
Tilly reached out a hand to the shadowy woman, "Mommy." She sobbed, "Mommy no. Don't get rid of me. I love you." She whispered.
The man loomed tall and frightening from the darkness. "Don't come near me! I hate you." He said directly to his daughter crouched before his shadowy form, "we hate you, you little freak."
"Daddy," Tilly begged, "Mommy please don't."
Her mother turned on her too, anger flaring in her eyes, "Evil Demon! You ruined my life! Get away from me!"
The words hurt her like knives stabbed straight through her heart, they punctured her lungs, till she couldn't breath. But still Tilly reached out desperately towards the monsters that scorned her. These were her parents, she wanted them to love her. "Please, Mommy, Daddy, don't be mad. I love you. I'm sorry."
The visions got dimmer, and the darkness pressed in. The shadows binding her arms and chest got tighter. She felt her ribs digging into her lungs, she wished they would just snap. The blackness filling her mouth stopped her breathing, and she started to feel faint. Soon it would be over, that was a comfort at least.
Just as she felt ready to fall away, a beam of light filtered into the room. Strong arms dragged her into the well lit hall. Her little torch was pressed into her hands. Tilly drank in its glowing rays as the visions disappeared. The light warmed her and chased the shadows away.
The face of her rescuer swam above her. A man's face. "Daddy?" she mumbled. Her vision grew clearer and she recognised the man who had saved her. It was Spike's uncle, Wesley.
"Matilda? Can you hear me?" he asked, "are you alright?"
Tilly reached out for toward him and grabbed a hold of his arm. "I'm sorry," she said, "I'm sorry. I was frightened. I saw my Mommy and Daddy, and I was so afraid. I'm sorry."
Wesley pulled the child into his arms, "It's alright to be afraid, but it's over now. You're safe."
Tilly regained her composure and a new sparkle light up her eyes. "I am safe." She agreed, "Because you rescued me. You're my hero!"
Wesley looked almost afraid as he repeated uncertainly, "Hero?"
Finger painting was probably one of Fred's messier ideas, and that was saying something considering she cut up slimy demons to look at their insides for a living. Why children preferred messy, loud games to a good quiet brood, Angel would never know, but it seemed Fred understood perfectly.
The idea had seemed innocent enough, a little finger painting; an opportunity to teach Spike to appreciate art, but innocent had nothing to do with the sloppy multicoloured mess which now covered Angel office. The old vampire stood slumped against the front of his desk and surveyed the art work his office had become.
"You know what we need?" Spike said, as he ran his fingers over a brown piece of paper covered in a horrible mix of paints. "Yellow."
Fred crawled across the newspaper spread on the floor (which had failed in its job of protecting the carpet, when Fred and Spike had started their "paint fight" that had consequently left splats and blobs all over the office), looking for the paint tubes. "I don't think I can see the yellow. It was around here somewhere." She lifted up a pile of paints and examined the long smeared labels. "We have red. How about red? It's like apples. Or blood. You're a vampire, have some red."
Spike shook his head, "No, I need yellow." He located a small plastic ice cream lid in the middle of the paper. The plastic lid had been the paint tray, before things got messily out of hand. The perfect blobs of paint that had once covered the lid were now a globby mess. Spike scooped up a handful of the remaining mix and plopped it on his paper. "Ok, I have blue, green and orange. Maybe if I mix them together…" He stirred the mixture with his hands for a while, "Hmm, still no yellow. Maybe I need more green."
"I think you've had just about enough green." Angel said, hoisting Spike off the paper and inspecting his charge. There were several green blobs in Spike's hair, along with red and purple. He had a Spike sized blue hand print on his left cheek, and a Fred sized Yellow handprint on his right, and several more blue hand prints on his shirt. Angel looked disapprovingly at the messy child, "It's time to get cleaned up."
Fred got of her knees, wiping the red paint of her glasses, "We did kinda make a mess." She said, surveying the damage. "Sorry Angel."
The vampire pulled out his phone, still holding Spike in his free hand, and dialled a number, "Harmony, can you get a cleaning crew to my office? Low level, no demon slime, just paint." He smiled at Fred, "Wolfram and Hart are on the case. Now you," Angel addressed Spike, "Need to be cleaned up too."
Spike used his lightning quick vampire agility to snatch the phone from Angel's hand. He put the phone to his ear "Harm'ny, get me a clean up crew. Low level, no demon slime, just Spike."
Angel took the phone from him. "Spike, Wolfram & Hart are not your personal clean-up service, they're mine. You have to have a proper bath."
Spike pouted at his grandsire, "But what about my pitchers?" He mispronounced.
"There are pictures to save in that mess?" Angel asked incredulously.
"There were some good ones from early on," Fred said, gathering a few dry paintings from the edges of the colourful mess. "They got a little splattered from the paint war, but they're mostly ok."
"Fine," Angel said, "You two salvage what you will and I'll finish the work I was supposed to do this morning." He pointed an authoritative finger at Spike, "But then it's bath time."
Spike hurried to help his adopted aunt gather their paintings, then the two settled down on the office lounge.
"Do ya wanna keep any?" Fred asked as she thumbed through the pictures.
"I dunno," Spike considered, "What do I do with them?"
"You could give one to Angel." Fred suggested, "He'd love that."
"Yeah!" Spike agreed enthusiastically, "And you can give one to Wesley."
Fred looked away embarrassed, "What would he want with my silly pictures?"
"You have to give him one." Spike decreed, "But you have to choose the best."
"Well, ok. You help me choose a picture for Wesley, then I'll help you choose one for Angel." She shuffled through the pile and got to her pictures.
Spike took the small stack of painting and started looking through them them. Fred's painting were stick figures like Spike's were (the physicist had never been much of an artist). Spike studied her squiggly lines critically. He looked at a green grass line with several four petalled flowers growing from it, a red rabbit with blue ears and, for some unknown reason, green wings, a rainbow in the clouds. He disregarded all of them. "Don't you have anything that doesn't- you know- suck?" He paused at an arrangement of circles and blobs. "What's this?"
Fred smiled excitedly, "Oh! That's the atomic structure of butane and propanol. See, here is the hydrogen, and the single bond-"
Spike shook his head. "That's no good. See, the key to real art, is to make lots of squiggles and spots and say it has meaning when it really doesn't." He tossed the picture aside, "It's no good if it actually means something." Fred picked up her picture, looking a little hurt. Spike continued flipping, passing a few more science diagrams, before he found something he liked.
It was a fire truck, or it was supposed to be. Fred had painted a big red rectangle, with some square white spaces for windows, two black blobs for wheels, a red line coming off the roof (presumably the ladder) and 'fire' in big black letters along the side. Underneath it read 'Never fear, the hero is here.'
"You have to give him this one." Spike said.
"What, the fire truck?" Fred asked, "No, it's silly. Let me give him something pretty. How about the rainbow. Or the flowers?"
"No," Spike was adamant, "You must give him the fire truck."
Fred turned the picture upside down, turned it back, and decided it wasn't too bad. After all, it was only a finger painting. "Yeah, ok. But what about your pictures, what will you give to Angel?"
Spike smiled, and brandished a picture he had been holding behind him. "Ta-da!" he exclaimed. It was a picture of the sky; darkest blue all over like it is at night. Dotted over the page were white stars and a thin white moon hanging in the corner. "It's the sky, at night, when it's safe to go out." Spike explained, "Angel, gets sad, because he's a vampire. But, I like being a vampire. We used to see the night sky all the time," Spike said almost wistfully, "Angel and Darla liked to look at the sky, Drusilla always made me dance. We used to have fun under night sky."
Fred furrowed her brow, "What did you say?"
Spike's eyes focused on Fred and his expression was childish once more, "Huh? Um… I forgot." He giggled, "Do you think Angel will like my pitcher?"
Spike didn't even notice he had spoken about his former vampire companions. It reminded Fred that this little boy had once cavorted with the likes of Drusilla, a real killer. He was her little Spike now, not the big bad killer he had been. She kissed his hair fondly, "It's beautiful Spike. Angel will love it."
Spike clapped his hands together in pleased excitement, almost crunching his precious
"pitcher" between his palms. "I just need your help to finish it. See here," He pointed to the bottom of the page, where there were two stick figures. Above one in Spike's shaky hand writing was 'Spike' the other figure was nameless. "I need to write Angel's name. But I don't know how."
"It's easy." Fred said, grabbing a piece of paper and writing it down for him, "See, a big pointy 'A', then 'n', 'g', 'e' and a long 'l'."
Spike quickly dipped his finger in the white paint and hurried back to his picture. Taking the paper from her hands, he painstakingly began to copy the name. He got it mostly right, though the 'g' was backwards. When he got to 'e' he smiled. "I have that in my name." He held the finished product up for Fred to see, "What do you think?"
Fred made an affectionate noise and gave him a hug, "I love you so much, you know that right?"
Spike pushed her off bashfully, "Yeah, I know."
"No, really I do Spike." She said. "Of course Angel will love your painting." She sighed and stood up, brushing down her paint covered skirt, "I better get going ok? I'm gonna go get cleaned up then I'll give Wesley his painting." She turned and addressed Angel, "Bye Angel, call me if you need me." Angel nodded and murmured something incomprehensible, not taking his eyes from his work.
"Bye Aun'y Fred." Spike said, hopping toward the door with her. Fred gave Spike one last pat on the head and left him and his grandsire alone.
Spike turned back to the paint mess in the middle of the floor. Aun'y Fred always had the best ideas. Painting was so much fun, even if it was messy. The best things in life were messy; the mess was half the fun. It was just a pity that Angel didn't try painting; it might make him a bit less broody. Spike picked up a handful of the gunky paint left over, a sneaky smile forming on his lips. "Whacha doin'?" He asked Angel.
"Reading something." Angel replied.
"Oh," Spike continued, "Anyfing interesting?"
Angel looked up suspiciously, "What are you up to Spike?"
Spike giggled hysterically, "Nuffing."
"Spike," Angel began. He stopped when a splot of paint hit the papers he was reading. Spike giggled hysterically again, as Angel got to his feet. "Right," he said, striding out from behind his desk and storming over to his little charge, "You are in so much-"
Splat.
A ball of paint hit Angel's chest. Spike was flat on his back laughing when a paint ball collided with his left shoulder. "Oy!" He said, hopping to his feet and assuming a martial arts defence stance. "What was that for?"
"You started it," Angel said.
And the fight was on. Spike lashed back with a double handful of red, but Angel fought back with a ball of green and blue. Back and forth the vollies flew. Angel ducked a purple glob, but took a green on the knee as he recovered. In retaliation, he smeared black all over Spike's sandy hair. Spike screamed and kicked at the paint all over the floor, spraying Angel in multicoloured blobs. The older vampire creamed his adopted son with the mucky paints, his previous concern for Spike's cleanliness forgotten. The two threw paint and slopped it on each other until both where completely covered in brown muck. Spike loved it. The big brooding vampire was just about to lob a handful of paint at Spike when the little vampire called a halt to the fight.
"Pause," said Spike, holding up a hand to stop his grandsire. "I found something."
Angel leaned closer to the child to see what he had found, "What is it?"
"Yellow!" Spike yelled, squirting the bottle all over Angel's sticky-uppy hair.
"You're so brave." Matilda said adoringly as she walked with Wesley toward his office. The demon girl was hanging off her hero's arm, staring up in rapture at his face as she sung his praises. Wesley was resolutely looking forward. "And handsome." Tilly added. "Do you wear a cape?"
Wesley looked at her in confusion, "Do I what?"
"Wear a cape?" Tilly repeated, "When you save people. Like a hero does."
"No," Wes said tersely, "I don't wear a cape."
"Maybe you need one." Tilly said, "and a mask. And a cool name. Oooh! And a side-kick."
"Why do I need all these things?"
"Duh!" She said, "'cause you're the hero."
"Oh of course." Wesley sighed, "because I'm the hero." They had finally reached his office, so Wesley opened the door and ushered Tilly inside. Fred was waiting at the desk when they walked in, scratching red paint off her glasses.
"Oh, hey!" she said. She put her glasses back on hurriedly, setting them slightly askew on her nose, and hastened out from behind the desk to greet Wesley.
"Fred." Wesley smiled, greeting her with his usual lingering kiss.
"You're Spike's aunt," Tilly said, steeping between the two loves and splitting them purposefully apart. "and Wesley's girlfriend." She said the last word so maliciously Fred and Wes were in no doubt about her feelings on the position.
"Hey Matilda," Fred said, noticing the girl. "Where did you come from?"
"Wesley rescued me," She said proudly. "He's my hero."
Fred smiled coyly at Wesley "Hero ay?" She said, kissing him softly.
"Yes." Matilda said, pushing Fred away and grabbing Wesley's leg possessively, "My hero."
Fred knelt down so that she was level with Matilda, "Can't we share him?" she asked.
Tilly sized her up darkly, "No."
Fred's smile drooped to one side, winning over Tilly was harder than it looked. Sharing hadn't worked, reverse psychology wouldn't either, so Fred decided to use a lure that she knew worked very well on her as a child; bribery and ice-cream. "It must be very hard, being rescued." Fred began.
"Yeah, I doubt you could do it." Tilly agreed.
"Well, I was thinking, you must be hungry." Fred continued slyly, "Maybe we should go out for ice-cream. It's good to keep your sugar levels up after being rescued." Tilly considered this at length. "Wesley could come too and you can tell me how he rescued you." She added to sweeten the deal.
"Well, ok then." Matilda agreed. "As long as you remember that Wesley is my hero, not yours."
"Oh, of course." Fred agreed happily. "Would you like to go get my handbag from the desk then and we'll go." Tilly hurried to the desk off to the desk, greatly excited by the prospect of ice-cream. "You've got a fan." Fred whispered in Wesley's ear when Tilly was out of range.
"She was in trouble," Wesley whispered bag, obviously slightly embarrassed "It's not like I was heroic or anything."
"I think it's cute." Fred said, "my big brave hero."
"Don't let her hear you say that." Wesley whispered furtively.
"Ok" Tilly said as she hurried back, "Ready to go?"
"Very ready," Fred said.
Matilda looped one hand through Wesley's and the other through Fred's. "So Uncle Wes," she said, slyly slipping in the affectionate nickname, "Do you wanna tell Aunty Fred the story, or shall I?"
"You may tell," Wesley said, "I'm sure you'll make it far more dramatic and interesting."
"Well," The child began as the adults lead her out of the office and toward ice-cream, "I had just escaped from the evil cell of doom, and I was on my way to find Spike." Wesley smiled over Matilda's head at Fred and she smiled back. With the little girl chatting merrily between them, the couple looked the very picture of domestic bliss, and both Wesley and Fred were quietly very pleased with the picture.
From behind the happy trio there came a sudden rushing sound. They turned around and felt the gush of some dark unseen wind. As it rushed past it flung Fred up against the wall and sent Wesley crashing to the floor. Fred gasped for air as the chill wind past through her, freezing her bones and her skin. Her veins stung like they where made of ice and her breath was squeezed out of her chest. From the looks of Wesley staggering from the floor and Tilly collapsed in the hallway they felt the vile wind too. Fred reached out a hand toward Matilda, and pulled the child into her arms.
"What was-" she began
Tilly collapsed into Fred's knees. "Spike," she gasped, falling to the floor, "It's the shadows, they're coming for him."
In the lobby outside his office, Angel felt the shadows coming. The whole office froze as the chill wind past over them. Files blew around the rooms; lawyers ducked and fell as the shadows chased them. A great dark fog swirled around the office, before darting toward Angel's office.
The vampire watched in horror. "No," He whispered, "Spike."
Spike was sitting alone at Angel's desk. The cleaning crew had done a good job, there wasn't a hint of the paint fights that had ravaged the office earlier that day. Angel had done a good job on Spike and the little vampire was fresh and clean. He hadn't had a chance to give Angel his painting yet, so he decided to leave it as a gift on the table. Pushing the other junk off the table and onto the floor, Spike placed his painting in the centre of the desk proudly.
He was still surveying his artwork proudly when there was a commotion outside. People started screaming and shouting and something big and loud roared in the corridor. Spike ran toward the doors in a hurry to find Angel, but before he got halfway across the room the doors where flung open. A huge shadowy spectre filled the room, looming about and all around Spike. Out of the darkness grew a face, and a form, and then many forms. Spike recognised them as the people from his dreams. The people he had killed.
He stumbled backwards, and felt the cold chill of the shadows behind him. A figure rose above the rest and stretched out it's long shadowy arm to pull him towards it. The figure bared its white pointy teeth, shining in the shadows of it's pale grey smoke skin. It was a woman, old and wrinkled. Spike recognised this woman, as his once mortal mother.
"We have come, little vampire." She said, "It is time you paid for what you have done."