Chapter 13. Part 1.

He knew he was going to regret it. He must've had a complete relapse of intelligence to agree to that. She really was more trouble than she was worth.

"And then she said that she thought James thought my hair was frizzy, but I told her that was impossible because you know I deep condition every week." Went on for hours. The entire way back.

Spike stalked into the hotel, reigning in his temper as much as possible. They needed her, and until they didn't he'd have to be marginally nice to her.

To his surprise, the group was not buried in their books. They lounged around the room, chatting lightly. Except Fred. Fred was sitting behind the counter, talking on the phone, a serious expression on her face.

"Ahoy. Look what the cat dragged in." Spike dumped his paper bags on the table and took his seat next to Gunn on the couch. He propped his feet up on the coffee table stacked with books, and lit another cigarette.

"Harmony. What is she doing here?"

"Thought she could give us some information. You know, what do you call it, top secret info on the big man."

"Angel wasn't very nice to me. Said I was dumb, materialistic, a shame to the vampire race, and he called me a bottle blonde. This color is not from a bottle thank you very much. I think he's gone absolutely crazy." She sat down on Spike's lap, but he pushed her aside onto the armrest.

"Me too Harmonica. But don't take it personally, Angelhair has mucho grande issues to work out."

"You can say that again. Did you know he killed five employees today?"

"For what?"

"I don't know. Something about sacrifices or maybe it was sushi. I couldn't hear much through the door."

"The door...right. It might be helpful if you knew which one it was."

"What was?"

"Never mind. Spike, how long will she be staying here, and please don't say a while."

"A while." Everyone had to stifle a groan. "Hey, I did you all a favor. Didn't have to sacrifice my dignity and drag her along. She knows what all the hubbub is about at the big house, don't you Harm?"

"I was never in jail Blondie Bear, you know that."

"I meant Wolfram and Hart, you bleeding moron."

"I don't have to take this you know. I could leave right now and you would never know the hubbub thing at WF&R. You need me."

"And where exactly would you go, pet? The homeless shelter? Sorry, don't think they have single serving microwavable blood packets."

"Well, I could go to my Aunt Mitchell's house. You know, funny story—"

"One we won't be hearing. Just get to the part about the Pères de Tomes."

"Oh. I don't know much. Only that whatever deal Angel...it is still Angel right?"

"More or less."

"Anyways, the deal that Angel made with the Pères de Tomes people was something like beating up my Blondie Bear and then he gets to open it."

"Open what?"

"Oh, I don't remember. I couldn't really hear anything. I was after all locked in a closet."

"Great, so Angel either has a horribly frightening doomsday device or can't seem to open a jar of sodding peanut butter. Lot of help you've been. Now get out."

"But you said I could stay! You promised!" Spike grabbed onto her forearm and pulled her towards the door; she struggled the whole way, slapping his arm with her pink handbag. "Wait! I know more. I can tell you more. Please just let me stay!"

"Have a heart Spikelicious and let Harmonica here crash at our humble abode. Over 300 luxurious rooms. Well actually the top 200 have probably been condemned but that still leaves 100 fabulous rooms vacant. What do you say Pumpkin? Let her stay?"

"Yeah Spikey, please?"

He glanced between the two. "Fine. Fine. Just don't call me Blondie Bear and don't come into my room." He emphasized his words by pointing his lit cigarette in her direction.

"Alright. Oh thank you, thank you Blon—I mean Spike."

"As mush as I love tender moments, how 'bout we get to the show and tell."

The three went back to their particular seats and waited for Harmony to speak.

"Okay, remember what you said about the doomsday thingy? Well I heard Angel saying that he's gonna make a hell on earth. And then he said Harmony get out of my closet. He sounded real mad."

"Hell on earth?"

"You don't think he means that literally do you?"

"I certainly hope not. But, knowing Angel, anything is possible."

"Then why did he want to give Spike the vampire guys? What did they need him for?"

"Maybe they didn't need him, maybe they just wanted to—"

"To subject me to mind boggling amounts of torture and then, oh I don't know, some more torture?"

"Yes, to speak frankly. They are vampires, never known for their planning skills. I don't see them thinking ahead enough to have more calculated objectives."

"Oh brilliant. So you'd rather see me tortured than used as a tool to bring hell on earth?"

"I'm not saying that. I am merely stating that vampires have very limited patience and...what did you say?"

"I didn't say anything."

"No, no, the part about a tool for opening hell. You might have a—"

"Okay, everything's set. She should be arriving in approximately 20 minutes." Fred bound into the room joyfully. "Ooh, are these Twinkies?" She plucked one from the top of the grocery bag and began unwrapping it.

"Go ahead, help yourself, pet."

"20 minutes? I'm not sure I understand. She is flying in, right?"

"Oh no, she said she can magically zap here, or something. I didn't really understand what she said, but it sounded very convincing."

"Is it safe for her to...zap here? I don't want her taking unnecessary risks."

"Who?" Spike watched the two discuss like watching a ball on a tennis court.

"She gave me her word. It's completely safe. She only uses it for emergencies, which I think this qualifies for."

"Who the bloody hell are you talking about?"

"Willow."

"Willow? Willow's coming...here?" A surge of panic and dread shot through him. Suddenly, the Pères de Tomes were looking very enticing.

"Well yeah. I mean she was the only one to re-ensoul Angel, twice, so it seemed logical that she can do it again, or that is if he actually lost his soul."

"Oh bollocks. Did you mention me?"

"No, why would I? I mean she knows you're alive again...she does know doesn't she? I mean, you told Buffy, right?"

"That's the thing, pet. I really didn't. Why didn't I have a say in this? Why didn't anyone let me know what the hell was going on? I think I deserve to know, considering it's my ass that the Pères de Tomes want to shove hot pokers up."

"Well, you were gone. We didn't know where you went."

"Right. Just bloody brilliant. I need another beer." He got up and was going to swipe a few more bottles before he was intercepted.

"Oh no you don't. You already broke into my very expensive, one of a kind alcohol...thingy, which was given to me by a very close friend, and stole three of my best bottles of liquor. No more."

"Oh come on. Just one."

"No can do buckaroo. Get your own."

"I did. Just wanted to leech off you a while longer." Spike pulled a bottle of beer from one of his bags and popped the cap off. He gathered the rest of the packages and put the blood, beer, and other items into the refrigerator.

"You didn't happen to get any real food, did you?" Fred called from the main room.

"Define real."

"Edible."

"Nope, sorry, fresh out of that." He came out of the kitchen and headed up to his room. "So when is red coming?"

"Fifteen minutes."

Bugger. That was not enough time. He couldn't even begin to process what was happening.

Spike shut the door and sat on the edge of the bed. This was beyond bad. This was terrible. What if she tells Buffy? Buffy can't know. What if she doesn't want him? He couldn't handle that again. And what of Angel then? She loves him, he loves her. He'd loose two people in less than an hour. No, can't have that either.

But red could help get Angel back. That would be of the good, right? And she could get the bloody vampires off his back. That would also be good. So maybe her coming was good, yeah?

That part of his life was over.

It ended when he got sucked into the fucking amulet. Ended when the building collapsed on top of him. Ended when he lost Buffy. Had given up all hope of ever seeing her again, thought he had a nice comfy seat in hell waiting for him. But that wasn't on the Powers That Be's agenda. Having the opportunity to be with her again scared the shit out of him. She had moved on. She deserved to move on. He couldn't rush into her life again.

That part of her life was over.

Chapter 13. Part 2.

Spike had long finished off the bottle of beer and lines of cocaine before Willow arrived. She hadn't given an exact time, so she could pop in in three seconds or three hours. Didn't help his anxiety. Which was strange, considering it was only Willow. Not like Buffy would be popping in along with her, right?

Willow was Buffy's best friend; they do not keep secrets, which makes him seriously doubt that Willow will let this one slip. After all, it is a fucking big secret. Oh, hey Buffy, just thought I'd let you know, your evil undead boyfriend who actually did die came back to life, oh and he's fucking your ex-boyfriend who is also still undead but isn't as soulful as you remember. Yeah, no way around that.

Spike stubbed out his current cigarette in an empty beer bottle and lit another. He was in the process of chain-smoking the entire pack. There were only four left.

The room was dimly lit, the table lamp casting an oval scone of light onto the wall, leaving the corners of the room in murky shadow. The air had become hazy and gray from his excessive smoking, if he needed to breath he would've died from second hand smoke within minutes. Opening a window could've helped, but he rather liked the idea of standing in a cloud of noxious fumes.

Spike continued his pacing until the room had become too cramped and crowded for his thoughts. Sighing, he slid out of his duster, folded it, then tossed it on the bed and made the decision to do something to take his mind off the fretfulness.

He ran his hand through his hair and remembered the dried blood that still clung to him. Have to take a shower then. Which was probably good, considering he stunk like he'd trounced about in the sewers and then in some elephant dung.

The bathroom was a deep green that could've been described as olive, but with less yellow. The wallpaper corners had peeled away, revealing a royal red coat of paint that used to preside, and that in his opinion was much more striking. The fixtures were generic, found in every motel in North America, but he got the feeling that the original fixtures were more grand and lavish than the present.

The scalding water quickly filled the room with steam, so by the time he got out the mirrors were fogged and dripping with condensation. Once dried off, he remembered the lack of clothing available and wished he would've planned ahead and bought some while at the store.

Grudgingly, he put the torn, bloody and stinky clothes back on. The rips in his plain black shirt tore even more when he pulled it over his head and his pants that had been doused in sewer gunk smelled repulsive, especially with his sensitive nose. Have to have Willow lend some supernatural assistance. No laundry detergent would get rid of that stench.

Spike rummaged through the medicine cabinet, thinking the previous occupants might've left some hair product behind. It was stocked full of eye drops and Asprin. On a whim he checked under the sink but it was void of gel as well.

Feeling less enthusiastic about the day, he went to finish off the pack of cigarettes.

"Hi Blondie Bear. I know you told me not to come in your room," Harmony sat on his bed, twirling her hair around her finger as she spoke, "but I got to thinking...well you also told me not to call you Blondie Bear...and that also got me thinking that we should talk. You know like really talk." She was wearing the same pastel pink dress she always had on, a pink jeweled flower in her hair, and three inch come fuck me heels.

"Bloody hell," he muttered under his breath. He did not have the patience to deal with her. "Get out Harmony, now. Before I lose my temper and get dust on the carpet."

"But, I just wanted to talk. You know, remember old times, share a few laughs, have a couple of beers. How about it Spikey?"

"Not too fond on the reminiscing, pet." He crossed to the other side of the room and crouched, searching through the cabinets for gel. Wonder where Peach's room was? Probably have some stashed there.

"Do a fellow a favor and make yourself scarce, would you?" Spike shoved past Harmony, who was pouting and trying to think of another excuse to stay around. He crossed the hall and opened random doors, trying to identify Angel's room by scent. Being the ponce he was, he most likely kept some extra hair gel around, just in case.

The last door opened, at the end of the hall, turned out to be his. It was sparse, very Trojan like. The walls were a deep blue, as well as the curtains and bed spreads.

The bathroom was empty, except for a lone bottle of hair gel, sitting on the counter. If there was a choir around, they would be singing, and Angels would be dancing.

Spike carefully combed gel into his unruly curls, hoping he got it right. There was no way he could ever tell, without a reflection and all. Once that task was finished, he went back to his room, hoping against all odds that Harmony had listened to him and got out.

No such luck, she stood in front of the full-length mirror, wearing his duster and twirling around as if she could see her reflection. "Oh Spikey, don't I look fabulous?"

"Bloody hell Harmony!" He remembered why he was so mean to her before. Fuck, she was annoying. And needy, always requiring attention.

"Is it really that bad?" She looked herself over, "I thought it made my arms look a little flabby, but can't you just imagine me out crime fighting in this baby?" Harmony imitated some martial arts moves, swinging her arm into the mirror and sending it crashing onto the floor. "Oops."

"Out. Now." He gritted his teeth and tried to recollect the calming techniques Dawn had taught him in order to avoid a punch out with Xander. Nothing was coming to mind.

"I'm so sorry Blondie Bear. I promise I'll clean it up. Please don't be mad!" She tried to pick up the pieces of shattered glass. "Ow! It's sharp," she cried out when she stabbed herself on a shard, licking the palm of her hand, sucking at the small wound.

"Harmony! Will you shut the hell up and get out!"

"Fine." She straightened her dress, held her head high indignantly, and stomped out of the room, jacket still on.

"Wait a bloody minute." He ran after her, catching her arm, "Hand it over."

She sniffled, "What Spikey?"

He rolled his eyes. This was getting ridiculous. He was crazy, insane, stupid for bringing her here. "The bloody jacket you stupid chit."

"You'll have to catch me first." She stuck her tongue out at him and ran up the hall, making for the stairs with his duster.

"Harmony! Give it back!" He gave chase and tackled her on the staircase, both of them tumbling down and wrestling on the floor. He tried to pin her arms down, but she kept scratching him with her sharpened nails. She kneed him in the groin and tried to run, but he managed to hold onto her ankle and she crashed to the floor.

"Holy hell, watch the bits and pieces!"

"Ow, my nose. You big bully!" Harmony slapped him lightly on his shoulder; slipping out of the jacket and throwing it on his head, "Here take your stupid jacket. I don't want it, it smells like Payless."

He muttered a string of curses as he tenderly stood. Spike pulled the jacket off his head and froze in his spot. Everyone, including Willow, stood in a large group, staring at them in complete silence, expressions ranging from amused to shock. Willow was the shocked part.

Spike noted how good she looked. Much more confident. The way she carried herself showed how much she grew, no longer the little girl he threatened to kill. Her eyes didn't contain that deep sadness as before, the one that came from years worth of loss compacted into a tidy little few months, and she radiated a warm aura, full of love and hope.

The silence was broken by Willow's burst of astonishment. "Oh my goddess. That...you're not, can't be Spike. Is that Spike? He...I saw the building...it went boom...and and..."

"That's definitely Spike." Fred reassured the redhead who looked dumbfounded, stumbling over her words. "Notice the leather, platinum blonde, and whisky aroma. Definitely Spike. And look, cigarettes."

"Are you sure?" Everyone nodded in agreement. "Spike! It really is you?" She ran up to him and engulfed him in a hug. He was surprised at first, didn't know Willow cared so much, but quickly returned the embrace. He inhaled her scent of strawberries, remembering times that felt like decades ago.

"Wow...I mean...wow." She pulled away and searched his face. "What happened? How, you're alive? Well, not alive alive, but you know. And why do you smell bad?"

He had been silent up to then. Not daring to say the wrong thing and screw everything up. He flashed her a small timid smile before letting it flare into his normal cocky grin. "Long story, love. One that I'm sure science girl would love to explain...in simpleton's terms if you don't mind."

"Oh, well, it's straightforward really. All you really need to understand is the theory of relativity and some historical philosophical theories pertaining to misplaced souls and entities...anyway; Best we can figure is Spike's essence was trapped—sorta—in the amulet when he burst into flames. And when the amulet was returned to Wolfram and Hart, by the Powers that Be, he was released...somehow. We don't know all the details, but that's basically what happened." Fred smiled proudly to herself.

"Don't forget the ghostie bit." Spike reminded her as he sat on the edge of a step, lighting up another cigarette.

"Yeah, and he was a ghost, but we cleared all that up within a few weeks."

"Oh that's...a few weeks? Exactly how long have you been back?"

He took a long drag on his fag and exhaled as he answered, blowing a plume of smoke from his nostrils. "Almost a year now."

"A year? You were alive for a whole year and never told us? Don't you like us? Did we do something wrong?" She asked dejectedly, wringing her hands in front of her.

"No, pet, no. It's not like that at all"

"Then what is it Not something a bloke can sum up in tidy phrases alright?"

She was about to protest but thankfully Wes brought the conversation back on topic and away from tricky issues. "Willow, the reason we brought you here—"

"—is Angel. Fred explained it all to me on the phone."

He glared accusingly at her. "All of it, Fred? Long distance? Exactly how long was this conversation?"

"Only about...one...maybe two hours. I had to explain everything that's happened. It's a very complicated situation."

"And you couldn't wait until she came here? To Rome, Fred, you realize how much that'll cost, don't you?"

"Angel will be happy to pick up the tab once he comes back. Relax Wesley, everything is going to be hunky dory." She snorted and giggled at her word usage.

"That's if we can get Angelcakes back...we can, can't we?" Lorne asked apprehensively, swirling his martini with a straw striped like a candy cane.

Spike drifted in and out of the conversation, not wanting nor needing to hear the answer to Lorne's question. In his mind, there was no question that they would get Angel back. Angel always came back.

"It sounds like a spell, of some sort, I can't be completely sure of what kind, but it must be powerful. Altering the makeup of a demon or a human takes incredibly potent magic; one I don't know how to tap into. And even if I did, it'd be hard to come back from something that strong."

"We don't want you to get into something you can't handle. Dark magic must've caused this; it is an extraordinarily influential force that can sway even the purest creature to its side."

"I said hard to come back from, not impossible. I'm good at what I do Wes." She gave him a stern look before continuing. "I need to get close to Angel. See if I can sense anything. Magic always leaves behind a traceable signature, hopefully there's enough left on Angel that I can track."

"And how do you propose getting close to gel boy? Gonna waltz right in and sniff his ass? Bloody doubt it. He'll rip you to shreds 'fore you get through the threshold."

Willow furrowed her eyebrows in thought and frowned at Spike. "No, I can protect myself. And all I need is a few yards to get a read on him. Though, the closer the better. You guys can go in first, be the attack team. Distract them long enough to—"

"—get my nogs chopped to bits? No bloody thank you, pet. Not going on a kamikaze mission just to get a whiff of the beefcake's breath." He took another drag on his cigarette before getting up and disappearing up the stairs.

Way he saw it, the planning and strategizing was only their method of dealing with the loss of Angel. Standing back and looking at it from a distance, playing pretend like it wasn't a personal issue was one technique, but eventually it got cold and lonely so far away. He much preferred the close up manner, straightforward and real.

With a heavy sigh, he collapsed on his bed, going over his own agenda for the umpteenth time. It only consisted of one item, rescue Angel, but there were numerous versions, each one successful.

Only problem was he couldn't find the energy to carry out anyone of them. With the mediocre performance by the white hats, he was beginning to question his own ability. Angel might be too far gone, not capable of being saved, and what would he do then? Fail miserably? Could not accept that. Could not lose him.

A slight knock at the door drew him out of his musings. He dry washed his face, extinguished that cigarette, lit another, and said a muffled "come in."

Willow peeked around the corner, a friendly smile on her face. Awkwardly, she stepped into the room and not knowing what else to do with herself, sat down beside him.

"'Ello red. What brings you 'round?"

"Oh, not much, just wanted to talk is all."

"Yeah? About what?"

"Well, Buffy for one."

He suppressed a groan and kept a blank façade. "What about her?"

She scoffed, "Oh come on, you love her, remember?" She paused uncertainly, "You do still love her, don't you? I mean you were all obsessive and stalker-ish before and then with the soul, I mean you died for her and—"

"Course I still love her, pet. Love like that doesn't die easily. Never really does." He was still lying down, one hand above his head and the other bringing the second to last cigarette to his lips, gathering the courage to ask a question that's been on his mind since he came back. "How is she?" His voice was quiet and tentative; afraid of the reply he might receive.

"She misses you. We all do. Even Xander."

"So, she doesn't have anyone then, does she?"

Willow hesitated. Spike could see her back tense and eyes fill with uncertainty. "She...well, I mean not..."

"It's okay. None of my business really."

"No, Spike, it is. You deserve to know. She's been with this one guy; I haven't truly met him yet, so it can't be serious. And not long either, only about two months. You have nothing to worry about."

"Regular, average Joe, huh?"

"Actually, no." At his alarmed stare she quickly backpedaled. "Oh, not a vampire, she wouldn't do that. No, Dawn says he's like super strong or something. And immortal."

His breath hitched and for a second he was about to admonish himself for even thinking such a thing, but curiosity got the best of him. "Wouldn't happen to be called, the Immortal, would he?"

"Yeah, yeah, that's it. You know him?"

He shot up, possessive craze filling his eyes. "That fucking wanker! I'm gonna tear his bloody immortal throat out and rip off his balls and force feed it—"

"Whoa Spike, calm down, what's wrong with the Immortal?"

His fingernails dug into his clenched fists, the smell of copper springing to his nostrils. "He's a bloody bastard, that's what. I can't believe she's with him! Are you sure it's the Immortal? Maybe you got him confused with another poncey bloke?"

"Nope, its definitely him. With the not dying and all."

He scowled at her and snarled "I'm gonna kill that pillock! He's gotta learn to respect a man's territory, you know?"

"Oh yeah, just teaming with the man knowledge over here."

He continued with the ranting and emphatic arm movements, hitting his hand on the wooden dresser more than once. "We have to go. You have to zap me there right now! No way am I gonna let him steal her away. No bloody way!"

"Sure, Spike, but..." She stepped in his path and held onto his arms, stopping them from their projected trajectory. "Maybe we should concentrate on the Angel issue right now, and worry about Buffy later." At his unconvinced expression she continued, "She can take care of herself, she's a big girl now. You'll have plenty of time to be the knight in shining armor later. So let's sit down and try to figure this out."

He nodded and they both sat side by side on the edge of the bed. He lit his last cigarette to soothe his nerves. "I take it the class discussion didn't go so well?"

"No. They don't seem as rarin' to circle the band wagons as I expected."

He chuckled at the willowism. Surprising how much he missed it. "No, they don't. Been like this for a while now. Not wanting to face the fact that their hero abandoned them. Too afraid to confront the Irish git. Bloody pathetic if you ask me." He took a drag on the fag, savoring each and every puff and trying to concentrate on keeping as much emotion out of his voice when he spoke as possible.

"What are you doing here anyway?" She blurted out brashly.

He gaped at her, a tad taken aback by her bluntness. Long gone was the bashful bookworm. "Well...I originally came here for the hot sunny days and millions of people, but decided to stick around when the smog and demon hordes moved in."

She smiled lopsided. "Seriously, you never liked Angel. All you ever did was complain and make fun of his hair. And now you're living a door down from him."

He took a contemplative drag on his cigarette, which was getting increasingly close to being stubbed out. He couldn't say for the sex. No, that would hurt the little Scooby ears. But then again...she is gay.

"He...we've gotten over our differences since then. Well, most of them. He's my sire, I'm bound to him whether I like it or not. Can't pick and chose, gotta take whatever the raffle gives you, even if it is cracked." Short, simple, and to the point.

She seemed to accept his answer and thankfully took the focus off him. "The only way I can help is to get close enough to get a read on him. I need to know what kind of magic we're dealing with in order to reverse it."

"He's gotta come out some time. Can't stay locked up in that sodding castle forever."

"A stake out?"

"Bingo. We hide outside, wait for the poof to waltz out, and bam, attack,"

"Wait, attack? Why are we attacking? I can get a read on him from a bush or something, no violence necessary."

He was a little disappointed. "Oh, bush it is then...can't we throw eggs or something? Water balloons?"

She giggled and patted his leg before leaving. "Goodnight Spike. Be ready for action tomorrow at midnight."

"Night, red."

The cigarette was dangerously low, close to burning his fingers. He smashed the end into the ceramic ashtray, watching the red embers fade into nothing and laid back down, waiting out the moon.