98. Into the Light
Buffy's
startling speech seemed to have taken
the fight right out of the souled vampire. Spike was actually almost
disappointed by Angel's lack of effort in defending himself against his
childe's renewed attack. The younger vampire now easily managed to back
his sire into a corner, pummeling with his fists while Angel did little
except to attempt to block his blows.
And those attempts mostly failed, at that.
"Right easy, wasn't it, Angelus?" Spike sneered triumphantly, his eyes
blazing with a century's worth of anger and resentment. "Taking a
newborn fledge – one who bloody well worshipped you at the time, I'll
admit – and turning him into your soddin' slave – your bloody *toy*, to
torture and rape and abuse any bloody way you felt like it! Tell me,
Angelus – was it worth it?"
Buffy realized suddenly as she watched the scene, transfixed by the
intense drama playing out before her eyes, that there were tears
streaming down her face. She would not have noticed them, except that
they had begun to obscure her view of the tragically painful, raw scene
taking shape before her.
And deep within her heart, she felt the stirrings of a deep-seated
hurt, a sense of wounded dignity and betrayal that she knew belonged to
her mate. She was quite literally feeling Spike's pain, the bittersweet
tumult of emotions that engulfed him as he finally received the
opportunity to face down his abuser, his destroyer – the one who had
battered and tortured him and eventually turned him into the creature
he was today.
"Stop calling me that!" Angel demanded furiously, his voice shaking
with the powerful emotions that he was struggling to suppress. "I'm not
him! I'm not! *Stop calling me Angelus*!"
Gripping his sire's throat and slamming him back against the wall,
forcing him to meet his eyes, Spike leaned in close to him to declare
softly but emphatically, in a threatening growl that dared Angel to
attempt to deny the truth of his words, "Yes – you – bloody – well –
*are*!"
"No!" Angel gasped out, struggling weakly to break his childe's grip on
his throat. "No – I have it under control now – now that I have a soul!
I haven't been evil in years, Spike..."
"Because you've *chosen* not to be," Spike pointed out, even as he
nodded his acknowledgement of Angel's words. "Doesn't mean it's not
still in you to be evil, *Angelus*. It's all a matter of your choice –
soul or no soul."
"No – I could never do the things that Angelus did..."
"Couldn't you?" Spike cut him off, challenging his words, as he eased
his grip on his throat ever so slightly – just enough to allow him to
speak. He planned to make his point to his sire, once and for all – and
it would be pretty difficult for Angel to concede defeat if he couldn't
draw breath at all.
Spike went on, his eyes narrowed in accusation, "Because a few minutes
ago, you were all too happy to remember those things – seemed bloody
intent on doing them again, too!"
The trapped expression in Angel's eyes told Spike just how right his
words were. Angel had been very much out of control during the fight
that had preceded this one, before Buffy had interrupted with her
well-timed words – but he clearly remembered every last thing he had
said and done – every last thought that had gone through his mind, of
past crimes against the blonde vampire facing him now.
And not every one of those thoughts had been entirely unpleasant to him
at the time.
In fact, though he was loathe to admit it – quite the contrary.
Spike was right – Angel had *wanted* to recreate the past that lay
between them.
"No – I wouldn't have let it go that far..." Angel insisted, shaking his
head in desperate denial.
"Please!" Spike scoffed dismissively. "I've known you for a bloody
century, Peaches! Don't think for a second I couldn't recognize that
look in your eyes!"
His unyielding, frank gaze drove Angel's eyes down with shame, at the
knowledge that he was not fooling his childe for a second. Spike knew
Angel's darkness far too well to miss it in this instance.
"It – it was Angelus – I don't understand what happened...I must have –
must have lost..."
"You didn't lose your bloody soul," Spike cut him off again, determined
not to allow Angel to hide behind the defenses that had allowed him to
live with his crimes for so long, without really dealing with them – to
find a false sense of security in the false belief that he was not
really responsible for the things he had done.
"No," Spike insisted firmly, "it's been very much in place for the past
while, Peaches – and you *still* had no problem with knocking me about
– threatening me with things that you claim to be so bloody ashamed of
– so *sorry* for! With or without the soul, Angelus – you're a
self-important, power-mad, manipulative, wanker of a pompous..."
*Spike...*
Buffy's gently reproving voice in his head seemed more focused on the
element of the time -- time they had already spent too much of here,
when they needed to get home – than it was on how hard he was being on
Angel.
*Right, love – wind it down, then,* he agreed, never taking his eyes
off Angel's face.
Aloud he finished, "Well – you've never been a very nice person – have
you, Peaches? Way I see it – getting your soul back wasn't necessarily
much of an improvement. Your main concern with the things you've done
*still* seems to be how bad they make you look to other people – more
than it is how you've actually *hurt* those other people..."
"That's not true," Angel insisted, though he couldn't seem to look
Spike directly in the eyes. "You can't see inside my head, Spike – you
can't possibly know..."
"Oh, but I can, *Sire*," Spike interrupted, his voice soft, his eyes
lit with a strangely bittersweet triumph, a slightly distant expression
on his face, as he remembered the many instances that had allowed him
to know the dark workings of Angel's mind so very well.
Better than he had ever wanted to.
"So – all souled up at the moment, right?" Spike asked him, his
eyebrows raised in a matter-of-fact question. "No worries over whether
or not you're gonna try and dominate me again if I let you go?"
Angel shook his head quickly, eagerly grasping at the opportunity Spike
seemed so willing to extend to him at the moment. "No – I'm in control,
Spike." He paused for a moment before adding, "The soul *does* make me
different – I know it does. I can prove it..."
Spike regarded him speculatively for a moment, as if trying to decide,
before loosening his grip on Angel's throat, and then releasing him
entirely.
"Right, then," he said with a half-shrug as he turned halfway away from
his sire with a careless air. "Guess it's no problem then if I feel
like telling you that your former told me there's no question as to
who's more -- *talented* -- between you and I. No bloody contest, I
believe she said." He glanced pointedly back at Angel with a smirk as
he added casually,
"Don't believe she actually said 'bloody', though."
*Spike – what are you doing?* Buffy asked anxiously in his mind, though
her expression betrayed none of her feelings. *Is this really
necessary?*
Spike's words were accurate enough in his assessment of his and Angel's
comparative – er – abilities...though she had never said anything
outright to indicate that. And quite honestly, she did not think that
bringing it up now was necessary, or wise. Her anger over the things
that Angel had done to Spike had abated upon watching her mate take
back his dignity, his sense of self-worth, from his sire – and now, she
was simply ready to go home.
*Oh, yes, pet,* Spike replied, and she could hear the grin that he did
not allow to show on his face. *It's *very* necessary!*
Angel's eyes narrowed with barely restrained anger, and Spike's vampire
hearing could just barely pick up the soft growl he let out under his
breath.
Suppressing a smile, he turned away again and said, "Bet you thought
you'd broken her heart when you ran off and left..." He laughed
mockingly, shaking his head, "Girl was right happy to see you go...was a
relief not to have to pretend to feel something for you anymore..."
Angel's growl increased in volume slightly, as he edged nearer to his
childe, almost without meaning to, before taking a step back again,
shaking his head slightly as he visibly attempted to rein in his
temper.
"You're lying," he accused Spike in a voice that trembled with fury.
"She never said that!"
"No," Spike corrected him with calm, mocking patience, "*she* was
lying, Peaches -- when she told you it was good for her..."
Buffy's eyes widened in surprise at Spike's words, even as she stifled
a laugh at his words -- truer than he realized. He was simply trying to
get a rise out of Angel, really having little concept of how accurate
his assessment might be.
A dark thought occurred to her, one she would really rather not
consider, and a brooding frown to rival one of her former lover's
crossed her face, as she realized.
Actually -- he *did*.
Buffy's grim observations were drawn to an abrupt close when Angel
suddenly lunged at her mate without warning, grabbing him around the
waist in a strong grip that held his arms pinned to his sides, as his
free hand gripped his hair and yanked his head to the side in
preparation to bite him.
"I'll teach you to talk to your sire like that, boy!"
*Spike!* Buffy's voice in his head was full of alarm – but his calm,
unworried response stopped her before she could make a move forward to
help him.
**Wait*, love...*
Angel's fangs plunged downward toward Spike's throat, clearly intent on
dominating him again, on forcing him back into subjection and ending
his brutally truthful words – words that were still too painful for
Angel to allow himself to process.
A part of Buffy's mind wondered why Spike made no move to try to stop
him – no attempt to break his sire's hold on him or defend himself in
any way. Surely Angel had not regained enough strength in the past few
minutes to manage to subdue Spike, and reassert his former claim...
And then – she remembered.
And her fears melted away, as a slow smile spread across her face.
At precisely that moment – the same moment in which Angel's glistening
fangs came into contact with Spike's throat – the older vampire jerked
back away from him with a strangled cry of pain, releasing him and
staggering backward a few steps, the back of his hand raised to cover
his mouth, his eyes wide with surprise as he stared at his childe.
Spike's signature smirk was in place as he turned slowly to face him,
meeting his eyes boldly. "Tingles a bit, don't it, mate?" he remarked
with quiet mockery.
The recognition slowly dawned in Angel's eyes as he remembered what he
had already known about the claim between Spike and Buffy – what he
would have remembered, had his rage not so consumed him in that moment,
screaming for him to make what was once his, his again.
But he barely had time to register the information, before the blonde
vampire was stalking toward him with the feral grace of a predator,
eyes narrowed and blazing with anger and determination – no trace of
humor in those steel blue eyes now.
"Thought you were gonna teach me my place again, *Sire*," he remarked
pointedly, his tone low, dark and deadly as he narrowed the gap between
himself and Angel. "Thought you were gonna remind me who I belong to!"
He paused, a few feet from Angel, with exaggerated thoughtfulness,
before smiling and adding, "Oh, right – you did."
"Spike – don't," Angel said, his voice quiet and trembling slightly. "I
wasn't – I mean – I wouldn't have..."
"You *couldn't* have," Spike corrected sharply, his tone unyielding.
"But you would have, Peaches. Don't try and tell me that wasn't what
you were going to do!"
"I'm still your sire, Spike," Angel insisted, meeting his eyes in a
last ditch, desperate effort to draw on the younger vampire's natural
respect for the position. "You can't – you wouldn't..."
"See – that's the tricky part, Angelus," Spike said, stepping slowly
toward him again, so that he was now a bare foot from Angel, whose back
was to the wall. "To be a sire – you'd have to have a childe – wouldn't
you?"
Angel stared at him blankly, not quite comprehending what he was
getting at.
"I was many things to you, Peaches," Spike continued, his voice soft
and serious now, his eyes shining with deep, long-remembered pain.
"Slave – minion – whipping boy..."
He shrugged slightly, and Buffy swallowed back a lump of tears that
rose in her throat at the momentary vulnerability she saw in the
gesture, in the briefly downcast glance of his expressive blue eyes,
before he raised them to meet Angel's again, open and honest in his
anger and hurt.
"I was whatever you bloody wanted me to be – but I was *never* your
'childe'. Not really."
Angel's eyes widened – and finally, as he understood what Spike was
really saying...remorse became visible in his eyes.
"Spike – I..."
Spike swiftly cut him off, not ready or willing to hear his meaningless
apologies right then. "Childer deserve – some sort of – of protection –
of concern...if not love, than at least the right to some shred of
dignity. Apparently – you didn't see me as fit to be your childe. Not
really."
He was silent for a moment, holding Angel's gaze with a firm, intent
look in his eyes that would not allow him to look away, as he finished
softly,
"So I don't see you fit to be my sire."
While Angel stood there, stunned to silence by the words, Spike leaned
in quickly, pushing him back against the wall and jerking his head to
the side, sliding into game face at the exact moment that he lowered
his mouth to Angel's throat, plunging his fangs through his skin and
drinking deeply of the blood of his sire.
Angel did not resist – did not attempt to stop him – as tears streamed
from his eyes, down his face, mingling with the blood that ran down his
throat, stinging the open wound, as Spike finally withdrew his fangs to
look once more into his sire's eyes.
He could see it there – acceptance, sorrow and shame. He could make the
claim now, if he wanted to – reverse whatever rights Angel might have
once had to control him, and bring the elder vampire under his
dominance – and Angel would not so much as resist.
He knew that he deserved that, and more.
Spike stared at him for a moment, choking back a wave of emotion that
washed over him with his memories, with the weight of the decision he
was about to make.
And then – he released him.
He stepped back away from Angel, allowing the weakened vampire to slide
down to the floor against the wall, faint from the loss of the blood
Spike had taken.
"No," Spike decided, his voice soft, barely over a whisper, full of a
falsely casual air that was meant to mask his overwhelming emotions.
"Truth be told – don't really want you that much."
But he could not mask his emotions from his mate.
*Spike...*
*Wait, Buffy – please wait,* he cut her off gently – and she knew why
he wanted her to wait.
His emotions were in a precarious state, where a single well-placed
tender word could tip the balance – and Angel had seen all of Spike's
tears that he ever would see, as far as Spike was concerned.
Into the still silence of the scene, Buffy's family and friends
returned, falling into the silent mood that permeated the room, as they
glanced around with confused, questioning expressions.
"Um – what'd we miss?" Xander asked lightly, though there was concern
in his eyes as they met Buffy's.
She quickly looked away from him, and he frowned, bothered by her
reaction.
Suddenly – every cruel word and thoughtless action of the past few days
came back to her memory – and Buffy really did not *want* to talk to
her friends – not until she had had time to decide *exactly* what she
wanted to say.
Spike knew her feelings immediately, and quickly took charge, finally
breaking his intense gaze away from his defeated sire.
"Slayer's ready to go," he said, his voice low and gruff, not quite
looking at any of them. "Let's get to the cars."
"Buffy?" Joyce's voice was tentative, concerned, as she came up beside
her daughter and touched her arm.
"Let's just go, Mom," Buffy agreed with her mate quietly. "We'll talk
in the car."
That was all the encouragement Joyce needed to begin performing her
motherly role, and ushering the curious Scoobies away and out into the
sunlight, to the cars. She managed to locate an old blanket in one of
the rooms where the Scoobies had slept, and tossed it over Spike, going
out to open the door for him as he rushed back to his car.
As all the others prepared to leave, Buffy lingered behind, her eyes
fastened on the vampire she had once thought was the love of her life.
He sensed her eyes on him, as the last of the Scoobies filed out of the
room, and looked up at her for just a moment before looking away in
shame.
"Buffy – I didn't mean to...I'm so sor..."
"*Don't*."
Her hard, trembling voice stopped him cold, and he waited in silence
for the Slayer's judgment.
It was much gentler than he expected.
"It *was* you, Angel. Maybe you don't *want* to do the same things you
once did. Maybe you *want* to be good. But some part of you *does*
still want those things...and it's up to *you* to keep it under control.
You can't use your soul as an excuse – as a – a way out of being
responsible for the things you've done."
Angel had no protest – no argument. He had not quite accepted her words
yet – but he knew that he could not deny them.
"I don't think Spike's going to want to see you anytime soon," Buffy
went on quietly. "And I know I don't." She paused, before adding more
softly, "But someday – that might change. I know you want to do the
right thing, Angel. I know you want to be good. But until you can come
to terms with the fact that on some level – you're just *not*, and
that's something you're always going to have to deal with – you can't
be a part of our lives."
Angel lowered his head, swallowing back tears that rose in his throat
at her words, as she turned and slowly headed toward the door.
At the door, she stopped, half-turning to add in a soft, tender voice
that spoke of the affection she had once held for him.
"But – I hope that you *can* come to terms with it. Someday. I really
hope that you can."
And with those words of hope, and a sort of bittersweet, ironic
acceptance – the Slayer walked out of her past, and into the brilliant
future that awaited her.