Saturday's Child
Chapter Nine
…
The sound of his phone ringing pulled Spike out of a dream of standing about in line at a KFC. It had been too crowded and the menu up on the wall had been too buggering small to read. Odd dream, that, and had him practically salivating at the thought of fried chicken and those potato wedge things. Bloody pregnancy cravings.
He got up with a slight grumble about having to leave the warmth of his slayer and fished his phone out of his coat pocket. He knew, even before he checked the display, exactly who it was. Only one person would be calling his phone and not Buffy's at this time of night. It was late morning where she was, but she knew the time differences and had enough consideration of others that she would have called later if this hadn't been the time they'd agreed on. When he was likely to be awake and Buffy asleep.
"She's still not ready to talk to you, Red," he said instead of hello. It was always her first question. Should she call back later when Buffy was awake? Would Buffy want to speak with her?
"She never will be, will she?" Willow asked, sounding like she was fighting back tears. "None of them will."
Spike sighed and rubbed at his eyes as he sat down on the edge of the bed. Truth be told, he'd rather not be talking to her either, after all she'd done. But glass houses and thrown stones and whatall.
"Who'd you try to call this time?"
She kept doing that. Every week, she was allowed two calls. Once a month, one of them was to her parents, who felt more frequent calls (from what they thought was a study abroad program rather than a magical prison) were a sign of neediness and attachment disorder. But the rest of the time, those calls were desperate attempts to apologize and make everything right again. At least she'd stopped trying to call Buffy after the last time, when he'd given her his number.
"Tara," Willow answered in a small voice. "Last night before bed. She… she just said she wasn't ready and hung up. She… uh, she didn't sound happy."
"You bodged things up right proper," he reminded her bluntly. "And not just with Tara."
"I know that. But, but it wasn't all my fault. The arm…."
Bloody hell, was she still on about that? "Stop right there. One more word about that, and I'll be hanging on up on you, too."
"Bu-" She stopped before she could finish the word, knowing he'd follow through on the threat. He'd done it before.
…
...
Darla had lost her soul a long time ago. Long before, she sometimes thought, she'd even become a vampire for the first time. She'd lost it when she'd been a child on the streets, hungry and alone and forced to sell her body to men who claimed to worship an all-seeing god who seemed all too blind to the suffering of the world. How she'd hated them and their god. She'd set about breaking all their laws, reveling in whatever sin she could find.
And her soul had left. It had fled away deep inside, hiding from life on the streets. Hiding from the brothels. Hiding from her rise to owning her own house and selling other girls. Hiding away until the welcome bite of the Master… her Master, had set it free to probably burn in hell. That was one thing those bastard lawyers had done right. When she'd been brought back as a pathetic, scared human, she hadn't remembered anything about wherever her soul had been.
"Here's the guest room," Cordelia said, opening a door in her apartment.
Darla stepped past her and into the room, barely noticing anything around her. Her thoughts were too full of her past. And of what she'd seen today. That ultrasound…. It hadn't really looked like a baby. Just a weird shape. And she'd been able to hear its heartbeat for months now. Something about seeing it, though…. She'd connected. She'd lost the battle to hide this soul the way she had her own so long ago.
Cordelia said a few more things, but Darla wasn't paying attention. Then the door closed, but she wasn't alone. He was there. A silent, brooding presence behind her. How often did Angel think about the past? How did he keep from being crushed under the weight?
"Do the good deeds make it better?" she asked, turning to face him. "Does it make it easier to face the past, knowing that you're helping people now?"
"Sometimes," he said quietly. "But it doesn't balance the scales. All the evil I've done…. The evil we've done…. It's too much to ever undo."
…
...
Wesley's hands shook slightly as he slid the key into the door of his flat. He was very aware of Fred's presence behind him, just standing there, holding the duffle bag the prophecy, reference books, and notes had been tucked into. With the hotel most likely unsafe for the moment, she'd nowhere to stay. He'd offered to get her a room at another hotel, but she'd – quite reasonably – pointed out that they would have better luck working on the prophecy together if they were, in fact, together.
She'd been quite reasonable about several things. Including joining him on his motorcycle for the trip from the restaurant to Lorne's. Spike's vehicle hadn't enough room for more than four adults and an infant. It had been reasonable for her to ride with him. It had been reasonable for her to lean against him during that ride with her arms wrapped tightly about his middle. She hadn't wanted to fall off, after all.
"I'll, uh, I'll be taking the couch. The bedroom is this way, if you'd like to get some rest."
"Wes, we have to talk," Fred said, carefully setting down the duffle bag. "About what happened when you were under Billy's influence."
Wesley swallowed hard and closed his eyes. He'd known something like this would happen. That she'd realize he could never be forgiven for what he'd done. The memories flooded through his mind. The rage he'd felt towards her. The way he'd belittled her and accused her of, of flaunting herself at him. And then he'd struck her before chasing her about the hotel in an attempt to kill her. He was monstrous.
"You, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce, are being a big ol' jerk," she said. "You need…."
…
...
"...to think about what really happened," Spike said into the phone. "Not what you think happened, but what actually happened."
"I messed up. I know that," Willow snapped. Then she paused for a moment to get herself under control. She knew by now he wouldn't put up for long with her being all shirty. "I made some mistakes. Everyone else has, too, but they still don't want to forgive me."
Spike closed his eyes and silently counted to ten. How could such a smart girl be so bloody stupid about certain things? "It has naught to do with wanting to forgive you. It has to do with them being ready. Might help a bit if you actually said you were wrong and sorry without qualifying it."
"What do you me-"
He cut her off, voice higher pitched and mocking. "Oh, ever so sorry. I didn't mean to cast a spell that made Giles blind, endangered my best mate, and nearly sent my other best mate off into unwanted nuptials. Have a cookie and all will magically be better because I didn't mean to do it! So sorry I helped a spell-crazed slayer keep a man imprisoned in her bedroom. I thought I was doing the right thing. I just wanted to help a woman keep her baby, sod what the person actually carrying it wanted."
That had actually turned out for the best in the long run, but that didn't make what she'd done any less horrible. And, honestly, if he'd been given free rein right from the start, he'd have likely come to the same decision about keeping Thursday. He'd always liked kids and had regretted that vampires usually couldn't have any of their own, other than siring.
"Okay, but that's all in the pas-"
"Not done yet, Red," he said in his own voice. Then he went back to mocking her. "Oh, oopsie-doodles! A troll is loose, maiming and killing people whilst causing all sorts of destruction! I was trying to help Buffy, you see, for she's ever so cross with me over my mistakes. Terribly sorry, but I didn't mean for it to happen. And, well, it was more Anya's fault than mine. She should never've tried to stop me stealing bits and bobs from the shop and using them to work with forces I don't fully understand."
Silence on the phone, other than muffled sniffles. The chit was crying. Either from shame or anger, but he'd no idea which. Didn't really care, either.
"Then there's what you did with that arm," he said quietly, no more mocking. "You chose to do that. To suck out the magic from forbidden books. You willingly took that evil inside of you, and it let loose every dark and selfish wish to flitter through your head. You made an entire town your mindless puppets and violated your girlfriend in every way imaginable. You tried to erase a sodding baby from existence, because she'd become the center of Buffy's world and you felt pushed out. Yeah, without the evil you'd absorbed, you never would have acted on those impulses, but they were still in there. And it all. Still. Happened."
"And I can never be forgiven for it?" Willow asked in a small, sad voice.
"Didn't say that, pet," he said gently. He remembered that night, before they'd all gone to stop Willow. He'd gone to a church. Confessed he was a foul sinner unworthy of forgiveness. But he'd asked for it anyway, and there had been… something. "With flesh and blood beings, it's always up in the air, when they'll be able to forgive, and they've that right. With the divine, though? Pretty much anything can be forgiven. But the thing is, you have to acknowledge what you've done and ask forgiveness with a sincere heart. Don't do that? You can…."
…
...
"… never be forgiven," Angel said, staring at her with those deep brown eyes that had been part of the reason she'd turned him so long ago. "Neither can I. The things we've done…." He sighed and shook his head. "I'm sorry, Darla, but nothing we do will ever be enough. You're feeling the baby's soul right now, not yours. Yours is in hell, and that's where mine will probably end up, too, no matter what I do to make amends. We're both damned."
Damned. It was such a harsh word, and he was probably right. She'd known she was damned when she'd been on her deathbed as a human. She hadn't had long enough during her second chance to make up for anything, and if Angel was right, it wouldn't have mattered. All his good deeds, and he was certain he was going to hell.
She frowned, studying him. Damned no matter what he did, yet he chose to go out and help others, even at his own expense. Why, when it would be so much easier to ignore it all? When she'd found him, he'd been the kind of man who used others for his own pleasure before tossing them aside. He'd had a soul then, but it hadn't driven him to actively do good. It came to her then, exactly what he was doing. It wasn't about achieving forgiveness, but it wasn't really about the people he helped, either. It was, ultimately, all about him.
"You're…."
…
...
"…punishing yourself," Fred insisted. She was right, of course. He was punishing himself. He deserved it after what he'd done. "It has to stop. The things you did? The words you said and the way you felt? None of that was you. It was forced on you. And you know what? I'm never going to forgive you for it."
Wesley closed his eyes, stricken by the words but knowing it was what he deserved. It had been his fault. If he'd just been stronger. If he'd fought harder…. His eyes snapped open, his thoughts scattering in disarray as Fred gently cupped his cheek.
"Because there's nothing to forgive," she said. "Billy Blim imposed his thoughts and feelings on you. He… he violated you. That makes him the monster, not you. You were just as much a victim as I was. And if you let that monster tear down what we could build before we have a chance to try it…. Then he wins. And that's something I learned in Pylea, Wes. You don't let the monsters win."
"Fred, I…." He stared into her eyes, filled with ferocity and… and love. How could she possibly feel that way? Perhaps because she was right? The way he'd acted. The way he'd felt. That hadn't been him.
She moved closer, wrapping her arms about him and holding him close. "And here's another thing to think about," she whispered in his ear. "I'm a Texas girl. You ever do anything like that when it's really you? My daddy taught me what to do with my knee. And a shotgun."
That startled a laugh out of him, though he didn't doubt it was true. This woman… she was amazing. And she wanted him. Or at least to see what they could have. "I…."
…
...
"… love you," Buffy mumbled, turning to cuddle against Spike as he got back into bed with her.
He gazed down at her sleeping face and gently traced her cheek with his fingertips, warmth and wonder filling him at her words. She said it more these days, after all the sessions with Ben working through some of her issues, but it was still a treasure to hear it. It always would be. She would always be a treasure. She could be a right bitch at times, but she could also be kind. And she was forgiving to a fault. In time, she'd no doubt even forgive Willow, though the witch would never again be as close a friend as she had been. Some betrayals could never – should never – be forgotten.
"Love you, too, slayer-mine," he whispered, holding her close.
He'd sought forgiveness, and he was fairly certain he'd gained it. But he wasn't going to let that make him complacent. He was still a vampire. There was still that urge towards at least chaos if not flat out evil. He'd toe that line for the rest of his existence, and when that time came, they'd all be together in whatever it was that came after. As a family.