Rain in Los Angeles is like rain nowhere else. It waits, dammed up in the clouds for months on end, until it can erupt in a deluge of Biblical portions. The power of the storms is often too fierce to last more than a few hours or a day.
Spike arrived on the third day of driving rain, the stormy weather mirroring his mood as torrents of heavy rain slammed into the pavement. Soaked to the bone, his feet cold inside his black leather boots and rivulets of water running down over the back of his duster, he felt as miserable as he could ever remember.
Standing on the front stoop of Angel's headquarters about to beg for help wasn't improving the experience.
Spike reluctantly banged the enormous brass knocker onto the wooden door, listening to it echo through the hotel as he puffed on his cigarette. No one rushed immediately to the greet him.
"Soddin' poof. Who lives in a haunted house, anyway," he muttered to himself. Rain dripped down his neck. He banged the knocker again. "Open the bloody door, dammit!"
The door swung open. Cordelia stood in the entry, her crossbow trained on Spike.
"What do you want?"
"Get in out of the rain, perhaps? Come on, cheerleader, invite us in, will ya?"
"Sure. Then maybe you can take off your coat, relax, and RUN US ALL THROUGH WITH HOT POKERS!"
"Uh … not in the plans, luv. Least not before dinner, anyway."
Cordelia glared at him. "If you try anything…"
"You know I won't, so stop acting all threatening an' BLOODY INVITE ME IN! It's wet as hell out here."
She suddenly smiled an evil, conspiratorial smile. "I guess it's alright. I mean, we have a Slayer here to protect us if we need it."
Spike dropped his cigarette.
"Th-the Slayer's here?"
"Uh huh. Come in and say hi." She gestured him in with the crossbow.
Spike's head spun frantically. He couldn't face Buffy. Not now. He wasn't ready, and he couldn't explain why he left anyway; doing that would jeopardize the whole thing. He couldn't run, either; doing that would screw this up just as much.
"You were whining and whining. Are you coming in or what?"
He stepped through the door and out of the rain, nervously looking around for Buffy. He heard a low whistling, then felt a rush of air as a stake stuck in the wall next to his head.
"Looking for B? Sorry, Billy Idol. She's not here at the moment, but if you'd like to leave a message," Faith hopped down from her seat on the registration desk and spread her hands, "feel free."
"You're the other Slayer," Spike said, ignoring the stake next to his head and lighting another cigarette. Relief flooded through him. "The one who had to do a spell in the state pen 'cos she wasn't as good as Buffy, right?"
Faith's pale face curled into a sneer. "At least I don't get led around by an electronic leash."
"Don't bait him, Faith. He's not worth it." Angel said, emerging from the hallway and looking Spike over carefully. When he got to the eyes, he fixed his gaze in place. "Get out."
"Now, Peaches, that isn't nice. The cheerleader just invited me in."
Cordy poked him in the back with the crossbow bolt. "Don't stay on my account."
"'Ey! Watch the coat!" He met Angel's gaze with hard blue eyes. "You think I like bein' here? I like it about as much you do." He looked away, unable to say it to Angel's face. "I came 'cos I need help from ya."
"What kind of help?"
"With Buffy," he mumbled.
"What was that? I thought you said…"
"I need help with Buffy, dammit!"
Angel growled deep in his throat. "Why would you come here?"
"Got nowhere else."
"So you thought what? I'd give you some inside tips on how to get in her pants?"
"Like I'd need those tips from you. Ponce. No. I just …" Spike paused, unsure how to avoid coming out and saying it. Bloody hell. Fuck it. "She won't love me …"
"That's a wicked surprise," Faith said with a raised eyebrow.
"Of course not," Angel said, ignoring her. "Buffy's…"
"…Until I have a soul," Spike finished. The others gawked. "Tryin' to find one's been … ah, forget it. Stupid idea, comin' here. I'll do it without you lot." He turned and started for the door.
Angel's voice stopped him.
"Spike?" The younger vampire looked back. "You're serious?"
Even before he said it, Angel knew the answer. Somewhere deep in his own soul, he knew that Buffy did love Spike. He had known it since the spring. And he, of all people, knew what that could drive a man to do.
"As a heart attack."
Angel had never wanted anything more than Buffy's happiness.
"Stay."
"Huh?"
"Stay. I want her to be happy. For that, I'd … Fuck," he swore. He had loved Buffy enough to die for her, had loved her enough to leave her and risk destroying himself. But did he love her enough to help her be with Spike?
Of course he did.
"For her. I'll help you for her."
"Wow, this is so how I pictured it," Willow said, looking around the front hall of Grey's parents' flat. "Very Victorian."
"Yeah. My mom likes that period. She reads all those muggle romances. You know which ones I mean? They sell them at the grocer's counter?"
"She does not."
"I swear. She's got hundreds of them."
"Yikes. Is that where you get your thing for books?"
Grey smiled at her, then led her by the hand into his living room. They were early; his parents hadn't come home from the Ministry yet, and Jess had claimed she had something to take care of before she got here. Tara was with her, leaving Willow and Grey alone for a few minutes.
"Hey Grey?" Willow perched herself on the edge of a green, wood-framed couch. "Can I ask you something? I'm kinda curious."
"Do I get to ask something in return? Is it like Truth or Dare?" He waggled his eyebrows.
She shook her head in disgust. "Mind in the gutter much? Not something like that."
"Oh." He pouted.
"Stop it. Plenty of time for that later. No, what I wanted to know is, how come you don't have an English accent?"
"Ya'd prefer if I talked like that bloody poof William, then, pet?" His mock Spike-voice was terrible, but she laughed. "Or yeh'd prefer Hagrid, maybe? Somethin' ter compare it ta?"
"Oh God, that's awful! Stop! Please!" She was laughing so hard that her stomach tightened painfully, her face blushed crimson, and she nearly toppled off the couch. Her breaths came in great heaving gasps, but when she could finally talk again, she said, "I'm serious. You've got no accent at all. How?"
"I told you I lived with my aunt a lot, right? That's pretty much how.."
"In Boston?"
"Uh huh. I lived with her during the week and saw my parents on weekends. Floo traveling made it pretty easy."
"But why? You said it was because of their jobs, right?"
"Does it matter?"
His sudden defensiveness surprised her. His shoulders and neck tensed up in a way she had never seen. "Um… I guess not. I was just curious, you know, about you. You don't talk about your aunt ever, or being in Boston or anything. But-but you don't have to. It's okay."
Grey blew out a breath, forcing himself to relax. "I'm sorry, Will. Can we just … say it's a sore subject and let it go?"
"Your aunt?"
"My aunt. Boston. It's … she died. I don't like to talk about it much."
He had a sudden flash, like a hidden glimmer of a memory: standing on the empty Boston streets, Jess at his side, his grandfather facing them. And something nearby. A presence. The flash disappeared as Willow's soft hand caressed his arm.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to go and make you all upset."
"It's okay. I'm sorry I snapped." He pulled her into a hug. "So do I still get a turn? Even though I snapped?"
"Turn?"
"For a question?"
"Oh. Okay. Sure."
"Did you talk to Dumbledore about your magic yet?
Her head tilted up, eyes wide with shock. "You knew I was going to?"
"I figured you'd decide he needed to know about the problem eventually. Did you?"
"Yeah. Last night, after we all met to talk about Harry and his friends."
"And?"
"He said a lot of stuff, most of it sounding like 'don't worry, we'll make it all better.' But I am worried. It happened so easily. I didn't even notice."
"You did notice; you noticed long before it got too bad."
"You're not nervous?"
"About you? No way." His arms went around her waist. "You're going to train with him, right?"
"Dumbledore? Yeah. Lots of stuff about focus and control and when magic use is appropriate. Like last year."
He kissed her softly on the mouth, then trailed brief kisses along her jaw until his lips were next to her ear. She giggled as the touches tickled her lightly. "You'll be fine, Will. You needed help. You got help. With all of that new power you got last year, I'm not surprised things are getting messy." He kissed his way back down to her mouth. "We'll work it out."
Willow was very lost in the feeling of his lips on hers when she heard something in the background. Grey pulled away, and Willow saw Jess, Tara, Buffy, and his parents over his shoulder.
"Oh! Um… hi?"
"Hi yourself," Jess said, her smirk effectively hiding the painful lump in her throat.
"Perhaps we should come back after dinner?" Sir Robert Grey asked, tongue-in-cheek. Both Willow and Grey blushed.
The atmosphere was not what Willow had expected at all. She joined Jess and Tara in laying out the spell ingredients; Grey's mom, whose name was Elizabeth, puttered in and out of the kitchen, setting out snacks and cookies for everyone. Grey, his father, and Buffy watched with amusement.
"Let me get this straight: aurors are like wizard cops, right?"
"Yeah," Grey said. "More like F.B.I., but the same basic deal."
"And your mom is a really good one?"
"The best," Robert Grey said.
"And she's putting out cookies and tea and wearing a little apron?" A vertical frown line appeared on Buffy's forehead.
Grey shrugged. "She likes it. It makes her feel all motherly."
"It doesn't happen terribly often," Robert said, "but she bakes superb sweets."
"But if she cooks you anything else," Grey said in a stage whisper, "definitely politely decline."
"I heard that," his mother called from the kitchen. The three of them laughed.
"Well, I think it's nice," Willow said from the floor, where she was aligning candles.
"Not that I'm complaining," Grey assured her. "So, Buffy …"
"Uh huh?"
"You're here."
"Uh huh."
"Not that I mind, but why?"
Buffy looked at Willow and Jess, who looked at each other and nodded. Then they looked at Buffy and nodded.
"They want me to be part of the spell," she said simply.
"What? What spell?"
"Making the lightsaber." Buffy looked confused. "Isn't that what we're doing?"
"Whoa, wait a minute. You're doing that how, exactly? As far as I know, Buffy has no magic," he said to Willow. "She can't help."
"I'm … doing her piece. It's kind of a surprise. We picked a slightly different spell for the forging than the one I showed you."
"You did." He looked disturbed; he had selected the simplest one in order to minimize the risk.
"Yup."
"It's more powerful," Robert said. "Our hope is that this one will be able to block the Avada Kedavra spell."
"I'm guessing it's more dangerous, too."
"Relax, hon," Jess said. "We've got all kinds of power here, and a vampire slayer. What could go wrong?"
Everyone turned and stared at her.
"What?"
