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Dee Bradfield
FEEDBACK: deebradfield@hotmail.com.
TIMELINE: AU. Set post-chip and Riley is long gone (happy, happy, joy, joy - spontaneous outburst, sorry). It's like Season Five, but without all the Glory/Dawn hoo-ha. (Who? Huh?).
SUMMARY: Spike realized his feelings a bit earlier than depicted in the show and took off for a while. Now he's back, and he's a little different. He experiments with some psychic stuff and is contaminated by a supernatural infection that he may have inadvertently passed on to Buffy and Giles. At least, that's how it started - I kinda went all Forrest Gump with the ball.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own 'em but I'll put 'em back in their Mutant Enemy box when I'm done playing, so don't sue me, 'K?
DEDICATION: To James Wesley Marsters for being such an all-fired hottie.
Drusilla was growing impatient. No one wanted to play - not even Miss Edith or the other pretty dollies.
Bored, she waltzed in a circle and then abruptly stopped. She tilted her head as though listening, her gaze moving toward the ceiling. A smile spread softly across her face.
"And it begins," she whispered.
***********
Angel stood on the porch outside Buffy's house and peered through the window, trying to get a glimpse of her. He found that a preview was always best, then he could get on with business without falling in a sobbing mess at her feet.
The sight that confronted him made his head snap back in shock. He narrowed his eyes and looked again.
No, he wasn't seeing things.
Spike was sprawled on Buffy's sofa, flipping through television channels with a remote control. An unbleached, barefoot Spike wearing faded denim jeans with one knee torn out and a wrinkled red T-shirt. A half-consumed mug of blood sat on the coffee table. He showed all the outward signs of being completely at home.
Angel glanced down when he felt the windowsill crack off in his hands, and half-heartedly tried to repair the damage. When he looked back up, Spike was grinning at him through the glass.
"Hi Dad!" he mouthed, blue eyes twinkling gleefully. He actually waved.
Angel snarled, wanting to punch through the glass and knock the younger vamp out.
Spike was suddenly wrenched backward and Angel wasn't surprised to see Buffy standing behind him, her hands on her hips. What did surprise him was the complete lack of animosity she showed toward his troublesome Childe, not to mention the tender smile she gave him before waving Angel toward the front door.
"Angel," she greeted him. "Is something wrong?"
Angel frowned. "Other than that?" He gestured to the still-grinning Spike who lurked in the background. He was barely able to restrain himself from rushing in and pounding the guy senseless.
"Oh, that's not wrong. Well, it is, but..." Buffy sighed. "It's one of those long, involved, and not-especially-interesting type stories." She shot Spike a quelling glance as though he'd said something disparaging. Angel hadn't heard a thing.
Spike caught her glance and held it, widening his eyes pointedly. They stared at each other for a moment until Spike's smile tightened and became a resigned grimace. He glared at Angel and then returned to his channel surfing. He still hadn't uttered a word.
Buffy put on a happy face and stood back to invite Angel in. He hesitated and stared after Spike. "Did I miss something?"
"A chapter of that longish story I mentioned."
"Is he ... living here?"
"Yeah, kinda." She spied Angel's appalled expression. "God, not like that!"
She screwed up her nose, but a speculative gleam lit in her eyes and that worried him.
"Buffy, you realize that the last time I saw Spike, he had me tortured with hot pokers?" Angel felt compelled to point that out.
"He did?" She shrugged, not particularly concerned. "Sounds like something he'd do."
"Not sorry 'bout that, Peaches." Spike's voice came from the end of the hall where he was padding his way to the kitchen. He tapped the side of his nose. "Evil vampire, you know."
"Shut up, Fang-face," Buffy chided. She indicated the now-empty mug he held in his hand. "Rinse that before you put it in the dishwasher."
Spike saluted, smirking. "Yes, Ma'am."
Angel squinted at the mug. It had a little skeleton on it, and the words 'I'D RATHER BE DEAD...'
"Buffy?"
She dragged her eyes away from Spike as he disappeared into the kitchen. "What?"
"When did Spike become your domesticated housemate?"
"It's only temporary," she told him, leading him into the lounge. "Because of Dru." They stopped in front of the sofa and she paused to stare at the TV, noticing that the final credits for 'Passions' were rolling. She smiled indulgently, picked up the remote and flipped the set off.
"That's why I'm here, actually." Angel hunched his shoulders and gazed at her earnestly. "Cordelia had a vision."
"She did?" Buffy was suddenly distracted. She frowned in the direction of the kitchen. "How's that going for her?"
"Painfully." Angel's brow furrowed. "Buffy, I'm trying to be serious here."
"You're always serious," she said. She gritted her teeth. "Stop it!" she muttered under her breath. "He is not a Nancy boy."
Angel only heard what she said because of his enhanced hearing. "Nancy boy?" he asked.
Buffy looked at him, startled, and then gave him a sheepish smile. "Sorry. Sometimes I forget and say stuff out loud."
"Would you just explain to me what the hell is going on?"
"It's to do with some El-Pogo snake thing that Spike caught in Mexico."
"Snake thing?"
She nodded. "Like the 'flu. Only not."
"So, you're sick. And it makes you like Spike?"
Buffy laughed. "That's funny."
"And true for the most part." Spike reappeared in the doorway and lounged against the frame, tucking his thumbs in the waistband of his jeans.
"It is not," she protested. "I don't just like you because of the link."
"'Course you do. If it wasn't for the bloody link, you'd never have known how I felt. It softened you up."
Buffy snorted. "That's like saying the only reason you love me is because of the chip."
"Bollocks." Spike glowered at her.
"Link?" Angel asked, at a loss. "Chip?"
And love? When had that happened? He suddenly felt nauseous.
Buffy and Spike were doing their silent staring act again, but this time Angel recognized that they were communicating telepathically. They were connected. Some of what he'd picked up fell into place.
"Okay, I think I get the link part. But what's a chip got to do with anything?"
Spike peered at him curiously. "Been out of the loop a while, haven't you?" he asked. He swung back to Buffy like she'd hit him. "What?"
"Would you please talk normally, you're giving me a headache." Angel sat on the sofa and put a hand to his forehead. This was too much to take in all at once.
"That's what Giles says," Buffy noted. She remained standing, her arms folded.
Angel blinked. Giles. The vision. Cordelia.
"And we're back to why I'm here in the first place."
"What's that mate?" Judging by his tone, Spike wasn't exactly interested in the answer.
"Cordelia had a vision of Giles as a vampire." Angel paused to let the announcement sink in.
"Is that all?" Spike sneered. "Hell, I could've told you that."
Angel focused his attention on Buffy. "Giles has been turned?"
"Sorta," she hedged. She exchanged another loaded glance with the younger vamp. "And Spike ... well, he's sorta human."
"What?" Angel's voice grated from behind his clenched teeth, his fingers closing into white-knuckled fists.
"Only sorta!" Buffy hurried to clarify. "Jeez, it's not even the real deal."
"Still got the muscle power, the pesky sunlight allergy, and the liquid diet," Spike corroborated. "But hey presto! Got a beatin' heart to go with it."
Angel stilled, listening. Sure enough - there were two heartbeats. He hadn't noticed it before because they were beating in complete synchrony. One was almost an echo of the other.
"He's got your heartbeat," he told Buffy, amazement permeating his voice.
She frowned. "Huh?"
"Spike's heart has got exactly the same rhythm as yours. It's just a fraction behind."
Spike's eyebrows shot up and his head tilted a little to the side as he contemplated Angel's observation.
"And a homerun for the Soul Boy," he confirmed after a moment.
"You haven't got that back as well, have you?" Angel was suddenly apprehensive.
"Nah. You're still one-up there, mate. Although I'd like to have a bit of a chat about it later." There was something in his gaze that was close to dread.
"He thinks he's keeping a secret from me," Buffy whispered to Angel. "I let him live the delusion."
Spike growled and stalked away into the dining room.
"You're very ... close." Angel watched Spike's retreating back. He couldn't disguise his uneasiness at the situation.
"Part and parcel of the whole linky package," Buffy reported. "It's weird. But it's not like he's, you know, horrendously evil or anything."
"Buffy..."
"I know. It's Spike. People keep pointing that out." She sighed and met Angel's dark gaze. "He's different now."
"How?" Angel stood and gently brushed her hair back off her shoulders. "He's bad. He always was. It's been the one constant throughout his unlife."
Buffy pulled away from him and moved to the other side of the coffee table. She hated when he towered over her like that.
"Don't you talk to me about bad," she snapped. "I saw what you did."
Angel managed to look confused and hurt at the same time. He excelled at the expression. "What are you talking about?"
"The torture," she hissed. "The way you used to treat him."
Angel's eyes closed in resignation. "It was a long time ago. I didn't have a soul."
"Would it have made a huge difference if you did? You give that damn soul so much credit for making you good. What does it do anyway? What is it?"
"It's ... a feeling. A part of me that knows right and wrong and has a conscience."
"Spike has that."
"But he..."
"But nothing. I can feel it. I know. There isn't an argument." Buffy began pacing a little. She got a surge of affection from Spike and stopped to let it flow over her. It had an instant calming effect.
Angel noticed the change and his face grew even darker. He was definitely going to kill his errant Childe one of these days.
"What happened when he was turned?" Buffy asked suddenly and he blinked at the change of subject.
"What?"
"Spike. Turned. What happened?"
"Doesn't he remember?"
"Well, I was dead," Spike said from the doorway. "Tends to blur things up a bit."
He strolled back into the lounge and stood protectively at Buffy's shoulder. She leant against him for a second, almost taking comfort in his presence, and Angel felt like he'd been sucker-punched. He recalled how she'd pulled away from him, how she'd distanced herself. She never would have done that before.
Angel swallowed the lump in his throat. "I've got to get out of here."
"But, you haven't..." Buffy started to protest until Spike interrupted.
"Go," he said to his Sire. "No doubt we'll be havin' that chat some time soon."
Angel nodded and left as though the devil was at his heels.
Buffy frowned at the door as it slammed behind him. "Well, that was a whole stack of reuniony fun."
"He's a bit on the upset side, love. Best to let him have a brood and work it out."
"And when did you get so understanding?"
"You need to ask?"
Buffy exhaled and rubbed a tired hand over her face. "I guess not."
Spike raised his own hand. It hovered for a split second, uncertain, and then ruffled her hair companionably. "Buck up, Slayer. It didn't go so bad, considerin'."
***********
Angel's next stop was the Magic Box.
He wanted to see for himself that Giles was coping with the whole vampire situation. And he especially wanted to ask the Watcher about Buffy and Spike.
He tapped on the front door and entered without waiting for an invitation. Public places were handy that way. The bell informed the sole occupant of his arrival.
Willow was sitting at the study table. She spotted him and bestowed him with a wide smile. "Angel, hi." She was delighted for a moment and then seemed to realize that his appearance in town had to been connected to something nasty. "Is there something wrong?"
"Is that my standard greeting now?" Angel asked.
"Oh. N-no, not really," Willow became flustered. He tended to do that to her anyway. Nice to see that some things didn't change. "It's just ... I mean, have you seen Buffy?"
"Oh yeah."
Angel thrust his hands into his coat pockets and stared at the tiled floor, still trying to rid himself of the image of Buffy and Spike looking so cozy.
"Whose idea was it that Spike should live at her house?" he asked.
"Buffy's. Giles tried to argue some, but she wouldn't back down."
Angel nodded and met Willow's curious eyes. "I don't trust him."
"Well, none of us do." Willow's brow furrowed. "E-except Buffy, I guess. I don't get it but it seems to work for her. He ... makes her happy."
"And I didn't." It wasn't a question. They both remembered the angst and utter wretchedness that defined his and Buffy's relationship.
"Hmm." Willow turned away uncomfortably and flipped a page of her book.
"Have we gotten to the awkward silence thing already?" Angel tried a smile.
"Yeah," she admitted. "U-unless you want to talk some more. I could listen or ... or maybe help. I'm good with the helping..."
"It's okay Willow, I'm not going to force you into a conversation. Is Giles around?"
"No," she blinked at him in that affected innocent way she had. "He's out checkin' on Apollyon."
"Apollyon?" Angel frowned again.
Why did that name sound familiar?
"Wanna sit?" Willow asked reluctantly. "He shouldn't be too long and I could, like, fill you in on the sitch if you want, I guess."
Angel hesitated and then joined her at the table. "First, I need to know what a 'chip' has to do with anything."
The witch stared at him blankly, and then comprehension dawned. "Oh. You don't know about the chip."
"Willow..." Angel ground out, beginning to feel frustrated.
"Spike's chipped," she informed him. "He's got this little government microchip in his head that stops him hurtin' any living thing. Oh, except demons ... and plants maybe. I guess it's more like a 'can't hurt humans' thing."
"You mean he can't feed?" Angel was stunned.
"Nope. Can't feed, can't even point a gun at someone without gettin' all ... brain-zapped. It's kinda cool. I-In a totally scientific sort of way, of course."
Angel considered that. It was unthinkable really. He remembered his Childe's penchant for mayhem and gore, and the idea that he was neutered by a worthless piece of plastic...
Wait. That was Angelus talking. Spike's inability to kill was a good thing. Especially since he was now living with Buffy.
"How did he end up at Buffy's?"
"Well, um, that's sort of complicated. And probably better coming from big ol' Giles and not a defenseless witchy-type person." She smiled worriedly.
"I wouldn't hurt you."
"Oh, I know." She hurried to placate him. "It's just that ... you did before. But, but its not like I don't trust you or anything..."
"Willow," Angel leant forward slightly, his voice soft and reassuring. "I wouldn't hurt you."
"Okay." She still didn't appear convinced and backed up a little.
"Are you like this with him too?"
"Who him? I mean, him who? Spike?"
"Yes Spike. He's hurt you before."
"Not really. And Buffy said he didn't mean it. If he'd really meant to hurt us we'd have been dead by now. We'd be pushin' up the daisies. Oh, plus, with the chip, it's a physical impossibility these days."
"But, you already said you didn't trust him."
"Did I?" Willow scowled. "Sounds wrong when you hear it back like that."
"So you do trust him?"
"Probably," she mused. "Haven't had a chance to try it out."
"Willow, how many times have I saved you?"
"It's different. I mean, even when Spike was bad, he wasn't nearly as bad as you were. He even helped Buffy stop you back then. Without being chipped."
"For selfish reasons."
"Everybody's motivated by selfish reasons, Angel," Willow said, being insightful. "Spike's just more up-front about it."
Angel's lips twisted ruefully.
"So, when did you get so wise?" he teased.
"I kinda grew into it." She shrugged. "It happens."
***********
When Giles had entered the crypt, he'd had every intention of engaging the Keratos demon in conversation. It was a rare opportunity to even see one of these beasts, let alone speak to one.
Apollyon, it seemed entertained other ideas.
No sooner had he come inside and unraveled its bonds, than the demon had latched on him with its prehensile tentacles.
Giles felt decidedly ill. And not altogether ... well, together.
His semi-inherited vampiric traits had bubbled to the surface and he had a distinct urge to rip the beast's throat out. The urge was becoming positively insistent and the Keratos seemed to sense this, retreating suddenly enough to send Giles reeling backward, the tentacles disconnecting with a pop.
The Watcher gasped for breath, his eyes golden in the crypt's dim interior, ridges evident on his brow.
"Good not anger," Apollyon burbled at him.
Giles bared his fangs as a threat, stalking the demon.
Apollyon's dual tongues flicked nervously. "Control must, Slayer-guide," he soothed, even if his Kera-speak was less than compatible with the tone.
His words seemed to have some effect though, as Giles straightened and stared at him.
"Well, that was most unpleasant," he noted finally, his cultured voice at odds with his fiendish vamp countenance.
Apollyon merely canted his head and peered at him, still doubtful of the Watcher's motives. "Dark is heart," he gurgled, interpreting his earlier reading. "Rage release or forfeit Slayer."
"Excuse me?" Giles' human features slipped back into place. "Are you saying that I have to let go of my animosity or I'm going to lose Buffy?"
"Precise," the Keratos confirmed.
"She'd choose that ... damnable Spike over me?"
"Ordained," Apollyon said. "Meant."
"They're supposed to be together?" The Watcher's incredulity deepened, then he frowned. "Ordained by whom?"
Apollyon shook his massive head slowly. "Utter not."
Giles growled low in his throat and smiled at the demon's wary step back. "Rather effective when put to proper use, isn't it?" His smile disappeared. "Now," he said, softly menacing. "Can't say ... or won't?"
*********
Buffy stared at the inside of the microwave and sighed. The appliance was adorned with splatter-patterns of varying shades, from deep red to black. The black ones had formed a sort of crust.
"Spike?"
She sent the call despite already knowing exactly where he was. The link had been progressing into new territory and they'd discovered this radar- like awareness earlier.
"What?" he grumbled. He was downstairs in the basement, having by this time converted it into his crypt-away-from-home. "I'm tryin' to get some shut- eye here, Slayer."
"Have you been experimenting with the pre-set heating menu on the microwave?"
The pang of guilt gave him away before he could even voice the denial.
"No."
"Well, okay then." Buffy smiled.
"Huh?" She'd confused him now. She had to know it was him - the blood splats were a dead giveaway.
"I said 'okay'. I'll clean up the mess myself."
"Right. You do that."
Buffy waited and began to count. "One. Two. Thr..."
Spike strode into the kitchen.
"Where's the sodding dish-cloth?"
She had it ready and slapped it into his hand. "You might need some cleanser on the caked-on bits," she advised as he set about scrubbing.
Buffy leant back against the breakfast bar and admired him as he worked.
"Don't," he said suddenly.
"What?"
"Don't watch me do this." Spike straightened a little, but his head remained bowed. He fidgeted with the bottle of cleanser, staring at it fixedly.
"I'm a Master vampire, Buffy," he said, his voice serious. "Renowned, feared by my own kind. I've been around for over a century, survived wars and all. This is just..." he sighed heavily. "It's humiliating."
Buffy frowned at his back. "You're still a..."
He turned on her, angry and frustrated. "No. I'm not." His eyes blazed, bright with tears he refused to shed. "I'm a bloody joke."
Buffy's eyes welled up on his behalf, feeling all the bottled-up anguish he'd somehow been keeping away from her. She moved forward and wrapped her arms around his waist, hugging him tightly.
Spike went completely still, convinced that his newly restored heartbeat was about to stop. One of the tears he'd been holding back rolled down his cheek, but he was too afraid to wipe it away in case he scared her off.
He awkwardly positioned his arms around her, returning the embrace despite having a dishrag in one hand and a bottle of cleanser in the other. He contemplated the situation for a moment and then dropped both items to the floor, repositioning his hands on Buffy's back. He rested his cheek on her hair and inhaled her scent.
Seconds and then minutes ticked by with neither one willing to break the unexpected intimacy.
Buffy murmured something against his chest, shifted back to say it aloud, but then changed her mind and used the link instead. "This is ... nice."
Spike grunted, not sure he was capable of putting together a coherent thought. He was running on instinct, logic had no place in it.
Buffy began toying with the belt-loop at the back of his jeans. Then she moved her hands up under his loose T-shirt to tickle the smooth skin of his back.
Spike jerked away like she'd thrown holy water on him. "What the bloody hell was that?"
Buffy stared at him, confused. "I just..."
"Thought you'd toss a few crumbs to the pathetic non-vamp?" His words were angry, but she could sense the hurt behind them. "I've told you about these sympathetic tendencies before, Slayer. I don't want that from you."
He stalked out into the hallway, grabbed his duster from the hook by the door, and left the house.
It was time to have that chat with Angel.
************
Spike wriggled his bare toes and smiled ruefully.
"Stormed out before I realized," he explained. "And I didn't want to wreck my dramatic exit by sneakin' back in, so..."
"You came all this way without your boots." Xander shook his head in disbelief. "And I thought you were nuts before." He gestured at the Magic Box's front window. "It's freezing out there."
Spike sighed. "If I weren't linked to Buffy, I wouldn't know the difference."
"Ah, the wonders of the human circulatory system," Xander mused.
Spike looked at him like he'd grown another head. Bloody idiotic...
"Do you want me to bring your boots?"
Buffy's voice resonated apologetically in his mind and he sensed her determination to come after him.
"No."
Xander frowned at him. "Are you talking to-?"
"Give a bloke a bit of space, love? Got things need ponderin'."
"...Buffy." Xander finished. He flashed Spike an oddly understanding smile and departed.
Angel and Willow entered from the basement just as the danger room door closed behind him.
"So, that's the grand tour and ... oh, Spike's here." Willow cast an anxious glance at Angel. "And, um, Xander and Anya are still out back so I'll just be..." She realized that neither vamp was paying her any attention and discreetly exited.
"Gonna thump me?" Spike asked candidly.
"I was thinking about it." Angel smiled evilly, his hands flexing. "I've given it quite a bit of thought actually. Entertained a few scenarios."
"Well, have at it then. Bear in mind, though, that if you're hurtin' me, you're hurtin' her."
"Buffy feels your pain?" Angel shook his head, defeated. "That is just..."
"Bloody weird? Should try it from this side, mate."
"I wish I could."
They stared at each other.
"So, how long?" Angel asked after a moment.
"How long what? Not bein' real specific there."
"How long, Spike?" Angel growled. He was in no mood to play games.
"Bloody forever."
The guttural admission startled the elder vampire and he gaped at his Childe, completely flabbergasted.
"Happy now, Peaches? Loved her from the second I saw her, same as you. Finally managed to lower myself to your standards. Even lower, if that's possible."
Spike began pacing back and forth, never having been able to stand still while on a roll like this. "Tried to live down to the glorious Angel mantle my whole unlife, but I can't compete with you, can I? Oh no, can't have that. Angel's better. Better at bein' evil, better at bein' good. I was always second fiddle. Even in Dru's eyes. Loony bint."
Angel frowned. It was the first time he'd ever heard Spike insult Drusilla and sincerely mean it. He normally used them as terms of endearment.
"Shut it, Slayer." Spike stopped pacing to admonish his link-partner. "Thought you'd backed up to give me a bit of room."
"Buffy can hear us?" Angel was so surprised at this point that his face lost all expression. If Spike weren't so pissed off he'd have been laughing.
"'Course she bloody hears us, you pillock." Spike rolled his eyes. "Well, she can hear me. All the stuff coming from you is ... filtered through yours truly, I expect."
"So everything she gets of this conversation is tainted by your point of view."
"Somethin' like that. Right quick on the up-take aren't you?"
"I shouldn't be here," Angel said suddenly. He wandered past Spike and sat down at the study table, looking dazed.
"So why are you?" Spike pulled out his cigarettes and tucked one in the corner of his mouth. "She don't need you to be Mr. Overprotective now."
"No. Looks like she's got you for that."
"Hey, girl's endowed with Slayer-strength. I don't treat her like she's made of glass. She appreciates that." Spike patted his pockets, searching for his lighter.
"Sure she does." Angel bowed his head and caught Spike's feet in his peripheral vision. He looked back up. "Where are your boots?"
Spike gave him a cocky grin. "Under the Slayer's bed." He reeled back as though someone had struck him, his unlit cigarette dropping to the floor. "Ow! Bloody hell, it was a joke."
Angel realized that Buffy had somehow managed to reprimand Spike without actually being in the same room and he was both pleased and disconcerted by the discovery.
"Oh, now that was cute." Spike complained to Buffy, aggrieved and all but oblivious to Angel's pensive stare. "A stroke of genius, really."
Angel's countenance took on a tinge that was decidedly green. He gasped and collapsed forward onto the table, his hands pressed to his temples.
Spike finally noticed his Sire's discomfort, taking in the sickly cast beneath his already pale skin, and frowned. "Oi. You okay there?"
He'd never seen a vampire faint - the whole lack of blood-flow thing not being a major issue - but Angel appeared as though he was about to change that.
"No, he's ... fine," Spike assured Buffy via the link, squinting at the elder vamp. Her concern was passing through into him and it was an unusual sensation. He'd never previously been especially concerned about Angel's welfare. Hell, the deader his Sire was the better.
He felt the sharp sting of the Slayer's displeasure and winced. So, wishing Angel dead wasn't approved by the Buffy Summers Board of Right Stuff, he could work around that.
Angel straightened, grimaced and peered up at him. Spike was shocked to see blood-red tears in his eyes.
"I think I just got some sort of message," Angel said, his voice shaky and distant. "From Drusilla."