Notes: I admit it, I broke out the old song and dance… Well, the old song anyway. While this isn't a songfic, Spike does sing in this chapter. Can anyone say "Lorne?" I knew you could.
Groo makes an appearance in this chapter. Be warned, I have once again strayed from canon. Whedon'ts Groo had a demon mother and was banished due to his human "taint." I decided to give him a bit more of a romanticized background.
And, Groo's "freaky Mormon" comment, that is not my view, so please don't flame me. It just seems like something Cordy would say.
"It's about inspiration," Buffy said, gazing into his eyes.
"You are my inspiration," Spike murmured, kissing her shoulder before dipping his paint brush into the paint she was holding. "Even feel a verse of the Righteous Brothers comin' on, love."
"Please don't," she said, wrinkling her nose. The action earned her a quick dab with the wet brush, leaving a splotch of paint.
"Quit wriggling. You'll mess up the painting."
She glanced over her shoulder, causing him to hiss in frustration when her hair dragged though the wet paint.
"I want to see," she pouted.
He groaned, this time because of a completely different type of frustration. "Slayer… Not the lip, you know what it does to me. And you know we can't. Not yet."
"Why not?" she harrumphed, resting her chin on her crossed arms once more. Spike once again settled her long hair over one shoulder before taking a baby wipe and cleaning up the mess she had made of his art.
"Have to fix it before it settles in. Now, be a good love and hold still."
"Why can't we be together?"
Spike sighed, once again loading the tiny brush with the black paint. "I dunno, Buffy. Because that's the way it has to be. Miles to go yet."
She sighed and tried to lie still. "I get to do you next, right?" She could feel Spike's smirk. "You know what I mean!"
"You can 'do me' any time you want, love." He blew lightly on the flesh of her lower back, causing goose bumps to rise on her bare flesh. "Done. That wasn't so bad now, was it?"
"Yes," she pouted, squirming to try to dissipate the feeling he had sent coursing through her. "Can I move now?"
"Yep. Just don't lie on your back for a few minutes, just to make sure it's dry."
Buffy nodded and carefully levered herself off the bed, being careful that none of her hair escaped the niche between her shoulder and neck. "What about my hair?"
He gave a soft smile and started gathering the mass in his hands. "It's beautiful. We'll pull it back, yes?"
Buffy nodded and allowed him to pile her hair on top of her head, securing it with a clip.
"Where do you want it?" she asked, picking up the brush and holding it ready. Spike dodged the drip of black paint that dripped from the tip.
"Don't care, love," he said, taking the wipe and cleaning the dab of paint off her nose. "It's your mark. Put it wherever you think is appropriate."
Buffy pushed him to his back and straddled his hips, determinately ignoring the evidence of his desire. "You didn't get to offer your opinion on where yours went," she softly reminded him, worried that she had hurt his feelings by not giving him the option.
"You could have wanted it on the sole of your foot, love," he assured her, giving her a soft kiss. "I didn't care. It's the art that matters, not the placement."
Buffy nodded and dipped her brush into the paint. Before handing the tiny can to Spike. "What should it look like?"
Spike shrugged, "Its art, Buffy. Just go with the flow."
She smiled at him, love radiating out of her eyes. Gently, she placed a kiss over his heart before touching the brush to his chest.
They had decided that it would be easier to get one place where they could all live. Spike and Greg did the leg work, searching out converted buildings and the like. They finally found a match in a renovated warehouse, a fact that Spike had found rather ironic considering the amount of time he had spent living in abandoned ones.
The first floor was completely open, providing plenty of space for training and equipment. A balcony ran the length of the upstairs, connecting the offices, now converted into individual suites, to the stairs. There were several access points in the building, proving alternate escape routes.
Spike and Greg helped Kate empty her rather desolate apartment, getting her possessions moved in one day. Greg's apartment took two days, even with the added help from Connor, who had a break from his studies. The teen was going to finish his current semester in his dorm and move into the warehouse over the summer break. He had explained to his family that he was going to rent an apartment with a few friends, which technically was the truth. His family was currently too concerned with his baby sister's current crisis to worry about if he was telling them the exact truth.
Spike's stash of personal affects only took one trip, something he was both ashamed and proud of. He pushed aside his fears about being caught with his pants down by the people who could be looking for him. Permanence was good. It made it easier for both friend and foe to find him, but harder for foe to catch him alone.
The first thing Spike did after they signed the contact was to contact a small coven with a request on the uninvited spell. They put it on the whole building, making every inch safe from vampire invasion. They also gave him a line on a sanctuary spell that would insure that no demon could commit violence within the building.
Wolfram and Hart, as the largest supplier of such spells, requested an inspection of the premises. Wesley, who would normally conduct such a search, was eyeball deep in a prophecy regarding the next apocalypse. Gunn, the second choice for such a visit, was still immersed in the search for Spike and Fred was visiting her parents in Texas. Hoping that the occupants of the building didn't prejudge all demons, Lorne made his way to the door and rang the bell.
A slightly scruffy man wearing workout clothes answered the door, only raising an eyebrow at Lorne's overcoat-swathed figure.
"Hello, cupcake," Lorne greeted him. "I'm from Wolfram and Hart, here to do the Sanctuary inspection."
The man stepped back and gestured for Lorne to enter, the verbal invitation conspicuously absent. He was obviously long used to the practice of not inviting strangers into his abode.
"Scrumptious place, noodle. Could use a bit more color, though."
"We're working on it. Greg Scales," he offered with his hand.
"Lorne," he replied, shaking his hand before shedding his coat and hat. Greg didn't so much as widen his eyes at Lorne's full appearance, which included a teal suit and lavender shirt. Lorne felt his measure of respect for the man go up a notch. While he knew that not many people had his keen fashion sense, very few could resist commenting on his style.
"This is how this works," Lorne explained to his host. "I ask you a bucket full of questions, you answer them, or not, it's up to you. Based on your answers, I decide whether or not we'll install the Sanctuary spell. Sound like a plan, pumpkin?
"Works for me. You want to meet my… Well, I guess warehouse mates is the best name for them? There's only two here now, Connor's going to move in in a couple of weeks, once his classes let out for the summer. That leaves a few of the suites empty."
"I'll meet them when we come across them, how's that? Now, let's see…" He pulled out the notebook of questions in Wesley's careful script and decided to start at the top.
"I guess the biggy here is 'Why do you want the Sanctuary spell?'"
Greg nodded. "That is a biggy. OK, Lorne, I'm going to be straight with you. My roommates and I, we hunt demons for a living. Mostly vampires, since the others we can never be quite sure are actually dangerous. The only demons we attack are ones we've seen kill, have attacked first, or that we absolutely know are dangerous to the general populace."
Lorne made a few notes on the pad, nodding his head the whole time. "Alright. Apparently, according to my notes, that's a pretty common answer. I'm supposed to question you on a few common and uncommon demons to see if you know what you're talking about."
"Sure," Greg shrugged. "May not be able to tell you if their harmless if you just give me the name, though."
"Perfectly alright, I know enough demons to give a few descriptions. First of all: polgara."
"Let's see, nasty looking things with spikes coming out of their arms, right? Definitely of the bad."
"Arpoc."
"Never seen a live one. My roommate says it looks like green jelly. Mainly harmless if you can avoid it since it's slow moving. Will eat anything in its path. Ah, I'd probably leave it alone unless there was someone in its way."
"Good, good. Obscous?"
"What's it look like?" Greg asked with a frown.
"About two feet high, ten legs, six eyes. Big spider, basically."
"Never seen one," Greg answered with a frown. "So, it would depend on what it was doing."
"Slugoth."
"Extinct, so that's a trick question."
Lorne smiled at him. "Well, you did pretty well. Little advice, though, if you ever see an obscous, say your prayours because they're invisible until they spawn. Perfectly harmless, but the little ones will imprint on anything that has a pulse and is bigger than them. Had a passel following me around back in '95. It was not a pretty sight. Since I couldn't see them, I was always tripping over them.
"OK, next on the list is a tour of the place. Particularly the facilities, if you don't mind. That last sea breeze in the limo has run right through me."
Greg laughed and escorted Lorne to the bathroom. He was sure he only imagined tripping over nothing in the wake of the comedic demon.
Once Lorne had returned, Greg showed him the complete downstairs, answering his questions about what they used the training equipment for. He carefully avoided any mention that two of their group were anything more than ordinary and until they got upstairs, he thought he had been doing pretty well.
On the top floor, they started with the three empty suites. Greg reminded him that their forth warehouse mate was still in college and wanted to finish the semester before dealing with the hassle of moving. He introduced him to Kate, who looked at the green demon in askance but kept her mouth and prejudices to herself. Greg let loose a sigh of relief when they closed the door to her suite.
Greg's room was next, and he opened it to reveal Spike sitting on his couch, playing his guitar. Greg was not upset by this, since he had told his friend that he was more than welcome to use the instrument, but him sitting cross-legged on his couch, with bare feet and a shirt that was only haphazardly buttoned was guaranteed to give the demon the wrong impression.
Instead of commenting on the familiarity of Spike's comfort, the sexually ambiguous demon stared transfixed as Spike began to sing quietly. Greg instantly recognized the strains of Soul and Inspiration and gave an obvious cough. Spike either ignored him or didn't hear him because he just kept singing the song.
Girl, I can't let you do this
Let you walk away
Girl, how can I live through this
When you're all I wake up for each day?
Baby, you're my soul and my heart's inspiration
You're all I've got to get me by
You're my soul and my heart's inspiration
Without you baby, what good am I?
I never had much going
But at least I had you
How can you walk out knowin'
I ain't got nothin' left if you do?
Baby, you're my soul and my heart's inspiration
You're all I've got to get me by
You're my soul and my heart's inspiration
Without you baby, what good am I, oh what good am I?
Baby, I can't make it without ya. And I'm, I'm tellin' ya, honey-you're my reason for laughin', for cryin', for livin', and for dyin'.
Baby, I can't make it without you
Please, I'm begging you baby
If you go it will kill me
I swear it, Dear, my love can't bear it
You're my soul and my heart's inspiration
You're all I've got to get me by
You're my soul and my heart's inspiration
Without you baby, what good am I, what good am I?
Mm-mm-mm Mm-mm-mm
Mm-mm-mm
Lorne stood through the entire song, gaze riveted on the ex-demon who was waxing poetic. Tears shimmered in his eyes and he put his hands to his chest, clutching the area a humands heart would be.
Greg gave another cough, finally drawing Spike's attention to him and their visitor. The British blonde looked up at them and flushed hotly.
"Um… How long have you been standing there?" he finally asked, nervously playing with the tension knobs on the guitar.
"Long enough, sweet thing," Lorne answered, wiping his eyes with a handkerchief he had materialized from some pocket or other.
Spike shot a glare at his friend. "Coulda gave a bloke some warning," he growled, finally putting the instrument down and rising to his feet.
"I did. You were so busy waxing poetic that you didn't hear me."
Spike frowned at his friend once again before turning his gaze to the demon. "Sorry 'bout that, mate. I'm-"
"I know who you are, precious. Trust me, at the moment I probably know more about you that you do."
Spike's brow furrowed in confusion. "What?"
"I'm empathic. Specifically, I can read destinies, feelings, you name it, when people sing. And you, darling, are beautiful."
Spike shuffled his feet nervously. "You know everythin' about me?"
Lorne nodded, waving a negligent hand. "My dear boy, after that song, you are an open book. I have never felt such pure love coming from someone. Especially someone with your past. And here I thought vampires couldn't love. OK, I admit it; I get taken in by the indoctrination too.
"So, William… I know you prefer Spike, but may I call you William?"
"Spike," the man in question answered neutrally, unsure about whether he could trust the strange creature in front of him.
"First of all, you're doing the right thing. You have a few more tasks, a few more miles to go before you can be together. She does miss you and does love you, though, Spike. I could feel her connection to you, which is unheard of. Keep on this path and you will be reunited.
"Your thoughts on the kid," he waved away Spike's menacing look at the phrase. "I don't know what your thoughts are or who the kid is. Just know your suspicions are on the mark, bubbaloo.
"You don't have to worry about the Council finding you, either. Giles is the new head and keeps them controlled with a tight fist," he revealed the information he had from Wesley. "The Council's changed, and for the better. The girls are allowed normal lives and friends. It's all good.
"There are a few other people looking for you, some of which are the not so nice types. That's OK, you'll come through fine. Well, a bit scraped and bruised maybe, but fine.
"Most importantly, sweet cheeks," the demon continued, patting Spike's cheek in a familiar way. "You don't want the Sanctuary spell. The girl needs a little bit of demon in her man, remember? With the spell, you'd be defenseless."
Spike and Greg exchanged a glance before nodding. "Alight, mate. I just want to know why I should trust you. Sure, you said a lot of things I liked hearing, but that doesn't mean you're on the up and up, if you catch my drift."
"You, Mr. Big Bad, are just a sweet marshmallow. Ask around the underworld, Lorne's never steered anyone wrong. Well, OK, there was that one hasesh demon, but it really was his destiny to die, I just directed him towards the least painful option. I mean, really, if you had a choice, would you choose beheading or to be buried alive?
"Anyway, sweetie, I promise I won't tell anyone else what I read, mystic-client privileges and all that. In fact, my client list is private, if you know what I mean. I'm not planning on telling anyone about this little encounter. Not even my boss."
He looked between the two men and decided that they believed him. Not that he was worried; they wouldn't kill him, but they would leave him tied in a bath tub for a week if they thought he was a threat.
"OK. I think that's all, gentlemen. I'm perfectly willing to approve the spell, but like I said, you don't really want it. So, unless you have some questions, I'll be going."
Greg nodded and gestured for the demon to precede him. Lorne was halfway out the door before he stopped and added one last tidbit.
"By they way, lover boy, you might want to actually look in the mirror today. It's not everyday a person wakes up with a mystical mating mark, after all."
He left as Spike rushed to the bathroom, determined to check to see if the mark he had dreamed Buffy painting was actually there.
Across the continent, Buffy Summers walked into her kitchen, calling a greeting to her little sister. Dawn smiled back and watched as the scantily dressed slayer reached into the refrigerator for a bottle of water. She looked better than she had in years. Her face had lost the anorexic look and her eyes had regained a bit out their sparkle.
Dawn took in the workout clothes and raised a brow. "You know, don't you, that we own a self-defense academy, right? An academy that you teach classes at each afternoon and evening, getting a decent workout doing? What are you doing working out beforehand?"
Buffy smiled at her sister and shrugged. "The classes are great, don't get me wrong. But sometimes I just need to go one on one with the heavy bag, ya know?"
"Still no news, huh?" Dawn asked sympathetically.
Buffy shook her head. "Angel said they had a lead, but it dried up. How can a lead dry up? Is a lead made of water?"
Dawn smiled at the asinine question. "Are you sure that Angel is the best person to be looking into this? He and Spike do have a few… Unresolved issues."
Her sister laughed at the expression on Dawn's face. "I talked to Angel about it. He knows how I feel. I've decided that I know who I want to get my cookies and he accepted that it wasn't him." She laughed once again at her sister's confusion to the cookie reference.
"The point is, Dawnie, he knows that this is what I want. If Spike's there, then we'll find him."
Dawn fiddled with her snack for a few minutes. "I… I just don't feel right staying here, being happy and living my life when he's out there. I know he can take care of himself and that he has friends, but he needs us. I need him."
Buffy wrapped her arms around her slender sister and rested her head on her shoulder. "We can arrange for Kennedy to take over the classes at the academy during Christmas break. Do you want to go to LA and look for him?"
Dawn bounced a bit at the suggestion. "Can we? Really?"
Buffy nodded. "Yeah. It's…ah… Already set up, actually. I decided early this morning that I couldn't wait any longer than necessary and arranged it with Ken. Willow's coming with us, if that's ok?"
Dawn rose and hugged her sister, bouncing with the exuberance of the young. "Why can't we go now?" she finally asked.
"Kennedy has summer session courses and a full schedule for the fall semester and there's no way she can handle the dojo by herself while doing all of that." Buffy said. "And because there's still stuff to do. I'm not sure yet what it means, but in my slayer dreams he keeps telling me that there's miles to go yet. So, I'm giving him a few months to get his ass in gear."
Buffy blushed at the look Dawn sent her. "You really miss him, don't you?"
"More than I ever thought imaginable."
Dawn bit her lip and decided to just ask the question that had been plaguing her for a few weeks. "Wh-what if he doesn't have the soul anymore? If he's the way he was before?"
Buffy smiled in understanding. "I figured something out," she said, playing with a strand of the younger's hair. "Spike loves us. Having a soul doesn't matter. He loves us and soul or no soul, I love him."
Dawn let loose a big smile and squeezed her sister in a death grip. "Yay!" she gushed.
Buffy finally extracted herself from her sister's embrace and made her way back to the fridge. She was glad she had made the decision to return to LA, she thought as she leaned down to snag an apple from the drawer, causing the back of her tank top to ride up in the back. She straightened in shock when her sister voiced another question.
"Buffy, when did you get a tattoo?"
Spike rested his weight on his arms, taking in the picture presented by the mirror in Greg's bathroom. An image he could not believe. There, on his chest, exactly where his dream girl had drawn it, was an intricate tattoo that matched the lines of paint she had placed on his chest.
"When'd you get a tat?" Greg asked from behind him. The darker man could have sworn that his friend hadn't had a tattoo a few days earlier when they had stripped off their shirts during the move in process.
"I didn't," Spike murmured, exploring the expanse of flesh with his fingers. Deciding that the mirror wasn't sufficient for looking at the design, he bent his head down until his chin touched his chest, struggling to see every inch of the pattern.
"Oo-kaaay. So, if it's not a tat, what is it?"
Spike finally stopped studying the mark and straightened purposefully. "I'm not sure, actually. I need to research it." He started buttoning his shirt back up. "I'm going to head out to do some research," he stated, striding towards the door.
"They have books on mysterious marks?"
Spike laughed bitterly. "If you know where to go, they have books on everything. That or internet sites. I'm going to go down to the occult shop, see if they have anything of use. Probably go to the library, too. I'll be back later."
Greg watched him walk distractedly out before grabbing an object off the table and rushing after him. "Spike, take my phone." He tossed the object to the man now on the first floor, who caught it easily. "Oh… And you might want to put some shoes on."
He smirked as his friend cursed and rushed up the stairs.
The small occult shop was really nothing more than a hole in the wall. A well-stocked hole in the wall, for those who didn't mind looking through messy piles of books and scrolls. He had become quite familiar with the small store in the weeks he had been in LA. The proprietor was a nice man and had no compunctions about Spike riffling through the books, looking for a particular subject. He almost always bought a book when he came round, so the shop keeper figured it was a good bargain.
"'Lo, mate," Spike greeted as he entered the dusty little shop.
The wiry little man nodded amiably at his customer. "Is there anything you're looking for today?"
"Mystical markings," he answered, quickly thinking of a cover story. I may not be paranoid, but the guy behind me is, he thought snidely to himself. "Ran into a bloke with a tattoo that seemed to give him extra power. I'd like to see if there is any way to counteract it."
The smaller man considered this for a moment before leading him through the warren of bookcases. "Try this one," he said, pulling out a faded book. "It's considered the ultimate source for marks. It covers everything from vampire claims to the Mark of the Beast."
Spike flipped through the volume, nodding his head in approval. "That's right on the spot. Thanks."
"Not a problem. There are a few more volumes around, but I think that really is your best bet." At Spike's smile of thanks, the man wandered back to his post, content to leave his customer to his own devices.
Spike browsed through the selections, looking for anything that might be handy to have around the warehouse. They had a few volumes of demon compendiums and he was always looking to improve the library.
As he browsed, he was vaguely aware of the shop door opening and closing a few times. Most of the customers didn't make it past the old-fashioned desk the owner used to hold the cash register. Most likely they were just picking up an ordered volume or placing an order. Spike didn't really care one way or other, but he did like paying enough attention to his surroundings to sense danger.
Which he was why he was startled when he sensed a demon near the back of the store. Tensing, he gripped the long-bladed dagger he kept tucked in the pocket of his duster and got closer.
When he turned the corner he stopped, a little amazed at the demon's appearance. He looked, outwardly at least, like a normal human. His brown hair just brushed his muscled shoulders as he sat on a stack of books, another tome held high before his face. Spike instantly decided that the man wasn't a threat and was going to go about his perusing when the man looked up at him.
"Oh! Hello," he said with a perkiness that reminded Spike of the Buffy-bot. "I did not realize anyone else was here." He stood up with the grace of a warrior before continuing. "Please, do not let me disturb your shopping of the wares."
Spike saw that his eyes were a blue so dark that he could not tell if the man had pupils or not. Half-breed? he wondered, mildly interested in the man-demon he could identify as a demon by smell but not sight.
"No worries, friend. Just heard you movin' around and was curious about who else was here."
"Yes," the man-demon said, giving Spike an oddly wide smile. "I too noticed that someone else was in the shop. When you did nothing to cause alarm, I decided the best course of action was to leave you alone."
Spike went back to browsing the titles of the books, leaving the creature to his own research. After a moment, a soft tap on his shoulder told him that he wanted to talk to him again.
"I'm very ashamed to ask, but my princess had only started teaching me to read the language of this dimension when we parted ways. Would a scholar such as yourself grace me with your wisdom?"
Spike stared at him for a moment, trying to decide if he was serious.
"First of all, I'm not much of a scholar. More of a rough and tumble type, if you get my drift. But I can help a bit, I suppose."
The man-demon regarded him for a moment. "You are not a scholar? But you scan the title as if you are familiar with the shelves. You bypass the piles on the floor as if you have done it many times before. Surely you have been in this shop often?"
"Well, yeah," he said. "I come here to do research."
The man-demon nodded emphatically, causing the lock of braided hair to bounce wildly. "So you are a scholar."
Spike took in this logic before grumbling under his breath "Turnin' into a bloody watcher.
"What ya need help with?" he asked at a normal level.
"The peddler stated that this book is a treatise on the habits of the caracash demon. I encountered one last night and need the information in order to be fully prepared to battle it."
"How'd you know it was a caracash?"
The man-demon gave the odd wide smile again. "Wexler's Demon Compendium has good drawings. I showed the peddler the entry and he directed me to this book."
Spike chuckled ruefully. "Don't do ya much good if you can't read it, though. Alright, let's see what it says." Spike took the slim volume and quickly skimmed through it. "Hmm. Where'd you say you saw this demon?"
"I did not say where the encounter was," he answered pleasantly.
"OK, will you tell me where it was?"
"Oh, yes. It was at the beach."
Spike nodded his head. "Thought so. According to this, caracash only come on land to lay their eggs. The rest of the time they live in the deep trenches. They only attack if they're provoked."
"That cannot be correct," the man-demon stated with a frown. "I saw it attack a human."
Spike looked back at the treatise. "A human, you said? Did you see the beginning of the fight?" At the other's negative, he continued. "Was the human a bit smaller than normal with purple dreadlocks?"
"Dreadlocks?"
Spike sighed and quickly scanned the shelves for the book he was looking for. Once he found it he pulled it from the self and skimmed through it before turning the volume to the man-demon.
"Yes," he said with a smile. "That is what the human looked like."
"Right, then. That's a Gnar-krarck demon, which feed on caracash eggs, amongst other things. I'd say she was just protecting her nest. Nothing to worry about."
The other man smiled once again. "I am in your debt then, for preventing me from harming a harmless being. I am the Groosalugg."
"The Groosalugg? Did your mother hate you?"
The man-demon looked at him oddly. "No."
"Then how did you come by the name Groosalugg?"
"I was rewarded the name when I became the champion of Pylea, the demon dimension I hail from. It means 'brave and undefeated.'"
"Pylea, 'ey? Can't say I've heard of it. Must have been a pretty harsh place if you moved to LA."
"No, Pylea is rather pleasant. I was the king until they implemented a system of democracy. I came to Earth in search of my princess."
Spike eyed him. "You mean you gave up ultimate power in a demon paradise for some bint?"
"No, for my princess. But, alas, despite several pleasant hours of com-shucking, she was in love with her boss. I did not want to interfere with a possible relationship, so I left her to make my own way in the world."
Spike's lips quirked at the tale. It did not take a genius to figure out what the word "com-shuck" referred to. The man-demon had heart, that was for sure. And a will stronger than Spike's own. He would not have been able to give Buffy her space if he knew she had been in love with someone else. Or maybe he would have. He hoped he never had to find out.
In his short association with the half-breed, which he had decided was most likely the origin of the creature, Spike had decided that he liked him. He had a naivety he found refreshing and seemed the type to speak his mind. All in all, he decided that the man-demon would be a good partner for his favorite demon-girl and vowed to introduce them. Assuming Anya had survived the fall of Sunnydale.
"Why didn't you go back home?" he questioned.
"Pylea has many warriors that protect the people. One more, even the champion, would not make a difference. Earth has only a few warriors. I can do more good here."
Spike nodded, impressed with the answer. It was a special type of person, or demon, that gave up everything he had ever known simply so that he could try to make a difference. The man-demon was truly a good man.
"Listen," Spike finally said, making a split-second decision. "Why don't you come back with me and meet my mates? We all fight the good fight, too. I can't offer a place in the group, but if Greg likes you, maybe we can all fight the good fight together."
The Groosalugg's brow furrowed. "I do not wish to offend, but I do not believe we are compatible for the com-shuck. Also, I was sure that my princess explained to me that humans, with an exception to something called a 'freaky Mormon,' only took one mate at a time. While I am flattered by the offer, I must decline."
Spike stared at him for a minute before bursting out with laughter. At the man-demon's confused look, the laughter only increased until tears were pouring down his face. When he finally managed to get himself under control, some several minutes later, his ribs hurt from the force of his laughter.
"I'm sorry," he chuckled, still struggling with the chuckles that threatened to burst through. "But that was the funniest thing I've heard in a long time." Remembering the man-demon's words, he once again went off into a fit of laughter, the weeks of fear and stress magically melting away under the force of his glee.
"I'm sorry," he repeated, wiping the tears from his eyes. "Your princess obviously didn't tell you about the complexities of human languages. You see, we're in America," he quickly found an old atlas and showed the confused being the representation of the globe, pointing out the US. " California, to be exact."
"I thought we were in LA?"
Spike sighed, seeing that whomever the Groosalugg's princess was, she had obviously spent more time training him in fashion and "com-shucking" than geography.
"We are. Here, this is LA," explained, pointing to the general area of the city in the over-sized book. "This is California. LA is within California, understand?"
The man-demon nodded, getting the concept.
"Now, California is in the United States of America. Where I'm originally from, the reason I don't sound like the blokes around here, is because I'm from Britain." He moved his finger over to indicate the isle of his birth.
"Ah, I see. So, Wesley was also from the kingdom of Britain?"
"If he talked a bit like me, then yes. British English, the way I speak," he explained. "Is much the same as American English, what people here speak. There are a few differences, accent really bein' the main one, but some words have different meanings. When I say 'mates,' I'm referring to my friends, not my lovers." He closed the book with a snap and replaced it on the shelf. "Understand?"
"I think so," the man-demon answered, brow furrowed. "It seems that my princess did not explain everything about Earth society. I had no idea that humans spoke different languages. It must be very hard to communicate."
Spike shrugged. "Only if you're speaking different languages. Or if you're trying to talk to a woman," he said with a wry grin. "Anyway, what do you say, would you like to go meet my friends?"
Groosalugg's smile returned. "I would be pleased to meet other warriors."
"Right, then. Let me go pay for this and we'll be off."
"May we speak more of human society while we journey?"
"Works for me," Spike answered, handing the volume over to the shop keeper for a tally.
"Ah, Mr. Rochdale, the Myth of the Slayer you ordered just arrived. Would you like to pick it up today?"
Spike nodded. "Yeah, been waiting for that one. Add it in."
After they left the shop, the Groosalugg hounded him with questions about human languages and cultures. Spike regaled him with tales of the people he had met in his travels, carefully leaving out the fact that he had killed most of the people he could tell about. In return, Groo, as he confessed his princess had nicknamed him, told him bits about his home dimension and the creatures he had battled in his quest to earn the title of Groosalugg.
"So, let me get this straight, your title is Groosalugg? Then what's your actual name?"
"What do you mean?"
"What did your dear ol' mum call you when you were a little nipper?" Seeing his companion's look of confusion over the influx of slang, Spike rolled his eyes and repeated the question without the idiomatic phrases. "What did your mother call you as a child?"
"Ah, I see. My owner gifted me with the name Kalverun"
"Owner?"
"Yes, before my princess freed them, all humans on Pylea were slaves. That I was gifted with a name other than 'cow' demonstrated my owner's affection for both me and my dame. Many shunned Rathagack of the Hardgerik Clan for his decision to have me trained in the warrior arts. They claimed that I was unnatural. It was obvious that my dame had com-shucked with a Pylean and that I was the result."
Spike nodded, taking in the information that Groo had given him. He wondered if his companion realized that most likely the reason his owner had "gifted" him with a name and training was because his owner was in fact his father. He decided that he didn't want to be the one to reveal the information to the half-breed.
"Do you know, my princess never asked me that? She just accepted the fact that I was the Groosalugg."
Spike nodded, immediately understanding that Groo's precious princess was probably a spoiled brat who had no thought in her head other than if her hair was mussed.
"Which do you prefer?"
The Champion and deposed king of Pylea considered this question for a moment. "I believe I would like to be called Kal, which is how my dame often addressed me. She only called me Kalverun when I stole gar-ini from the window sill."
Spike laughed. "I understand that, mate. My own mother could trot out my full name faster than I could stuff the pastries in my mouth." He suddenly stopped before opening the door to the warehouse. "Oi! I just realized, mate, I've not introduced myself. Name's Spike Rochdale. William Edward Norrington Rochdale to my departed mum if she was mad."
Kal nodded in formal greeting, smiling at his own memories of his dame chasing after him with a length of cloth that she used to handle hot items. She had gotten fairly good at using the end of the cloth to snap him on the bottom. He had often thought that if battles were fought with such towels, she would surely win the title of Champion.
Spike bowed his own head in response and opened the door to his abode, only to be pushed back from the force of the yells coming from inside. He would have been worried that his friends were under attack he had not recognized Kate's voice and the distinct sound of boiling rage.
"He was a fucking demon!"
Greg's voice returned the comment, giving back tit for tat. "Yes, he was a demon -- a demon that we needed for the spell."
"A spell he didn't even grant us," she snarled. Spike strode into the building and took in the scene. Kate and Greg were standing practically nose to nose. Her face was red with the force of her emotions while Greg's was white in anger. "He knows what we do here, now, thanks to you and your big mouth. He didn't grant the spell so that he and his filthy friends could come here late at night and wipe us out!"
Spike sighed at the comment, understanding at once that Greg hadn't revealed his demon status to the feisty cop. He appreciated his friend keeping his confidences but knew that Kate would have to be told sooner or later. And from the looks of the argument, sooner was better than later.
"No," he interrupted just loud enough to bring the combatants' attention to him. "He granted us the sanctuary spell. We're the ones that declined it."
"Why the fuck would you do that? So that that the Hell Spawn can walk right in and murder us in our sleep?" She yelled the questions, pissed beyond reasoning.
"Damn it, Kate," he yelled back, his temper flaring. "You have got to get over your stupid prejudice against demons! Not all of 'em are the soulless killers that murdered your father!"
"Stupid prejudice? Stupid prejudice? All demons are evil."
"Haven't you ever heard that there's an exception to every rule?"
"Demons are evil," she reiterated. "I will never trust a demon."
Spike sighed and ran a frustrated hand through his hair. He knew the revelation had to come, but he would have preferred to have done it a different way. "Even me?" he quietly asked.
The question brought Kate up short. Her face blanched white and she wobbled a bit.
"Even me, Kate? Even Connor, the boy you said was sweet? The boy you berated me for just last week because I 'allowed' him to patrol?"
"Y-your not demons," she stuttered, backing away from them in fright. "You're too human. Only vampires look human, and I've seen you in the sunlight."
Spike shook his head and gave a weary sigh. Tired beyond imagining, he flopped into a nearby lounger and pinched the bridge of his nose. A thought went through his head of really turning into a watcher, complete with mannerisms, but he pushed it aside.
"I was a vampire, Kate. One of the worst, for over a hundred years. After I died… Or was sent to a hell dimension, I'm not really quite sure what happened, I came back like this. The reason we refused the spell was because it would have made me vulnerable. It would have made Connor vulnerable. You've been patrolling with us for awhile now, Kate; didn't you notice the speed, the strength?"
Kate backed away from him, betrayal shining from her eyes.
"The truth of the matter is that there are humans that are more evil than some demons. You're a cop, Kate; you've seen the crimes humans are capable of. I knew a young woman that wouldn't hurt a flea who was killed by a gun carried by a human -- a human who killed the love of my life. I've been captured by humans who treated anything and anyone different than them as nothing more than specimen. Don't tell me that all demons are evil and all humans are good, Kate. I know better. It's not all black and white, it's complicated shades of grey and if you can't accept that then I'm sorry."
Kate continued to look at him, the shock evident on her face. Slowly, carefully, she made her way back upstairs, never taking her eyes off of the men she left sitting and standing silently below.
Spike leaned his head back against the chair, letting it flop over the edge. He could hear her cries drifting down from the floor above. He wouldn't be surprised if Greg and Kal could hear the sobs that he swore shook the walls.
Trying to put his own emotions back together, he rubbed his face, idly noticing that he needed to redo his nails. The black polish was chipped in several places, giving his fingers a ragged appearance.
The sound of Kal shifting uncomfortably finally brought him back into focus. Remembering his guest, he lifted his head back up and studied the two men before him. Kal looked as uncomfortable as his movements had sounded, making Spike wince in sympathy. He had asked the man-demon back to the warehouse in order to introduce him as a possible ally, not terrorize him with a bigoted human.
Greg was looking at him with understanding in his eyes. He understood, possibly more than anyone, how much Kate's words had hurt. While they had still not discussed the exact relationship between the ex-vampire and longest-living slayer, Spike had told him Buffy's view that demons, especially vampires, couldn't love. The man had listened to the subtext and understood instinctively that the slayer's attitude had hurt Spike worse than her fists ever could. Part of him thought that that was the reason Spike remained in LA instead of traveling in search of his lost love.
"Sorry," Spike muttered, cocking his head from side to side to try to relieve the tension that was now screaming in his neck. "Greg Scales, meet Kalverun of the Hardgerik Clan, from the Pylean dimension."
The two warriors shook hands and sized each other up, obviously liking what they saw. His duty done, Spike flopped his head back again and listened to the men talk, glad that the two men were getting along. He knew that Greg would accept the Pylean into the fold simply on his recommendation, but the fact that the two obviously got along was a sign of a developing friendship.
He and Greg had argued long and hard about whom was the leader of their little group. Where once Spike valued his autonomy, he had learned while working with the Scooby Gang that he liked not having to make the hard decisions. He was perfectly happy in the role of side kick as long as his ideas were listened to and respected, something Angelus had never understood. He had fought against Angelus' leadership both before and after the soul because the poofter had made stupid choices… Well, OK, that was part of the problem, but the real issue was that the elder vampire had treated him like an idiot.
He heard a door open and straightened his head once again, this time seeing Connor walk in from the outside. The younger man had a habit of coming and working out after his classes. Spike hadn't realized that so much time had passed between the time he had left for the occult shop and the fight with Kate. Or maybe it was that so much time had passed after the argument had ended, he wasn't sure.
Deciding that a spot of violence was just what he needed to relieve the stress, Spike finally rose from the chair and joined Connor on the workout mats. Neither removed boots or jackets before launching at the other. Spike had drilled the concept into Connor's head that during patrol you couldn't stop and ask for time to slip out of your boots. He had demanded that the younger man spar in street clothes in order to learn to move freely in a fight. Even the weight of a boot could throw him off balance if he was not used to sparring in them.
The sparring started out fast and furious, neither giving the other quarter nor asking for it. They fought as if their very lives depended on the outcome. Spike got Connor right off the bat with a spin kick to the jaw which forced the younger man back a step. He recovered even as he was moving, ducking a second kick and delivering his own blow to the bleached blonde's thigh.
The force of the blow was enough to make Spike's leg hurt, but the pain was quickly forgotten in the thrill of the fight. So involved were the two that neither noticed their audience of Greg and Kal, nor Kate standing on the balcony, studying the combatants with a gleam in her eyes.