Rated: PG-13
Summary: Spike leaves after "Dead Things," wanting nothing more than to get Buffy out of his head. Wesley's still an independent contractor after the events of "Loyalty." And the Slayer's still living in the land of denial.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters featured
below except for Nika. She's all mine. And I'm not making any money off
of her either, so please don't sue.
Chapter 16: March 2004
"So, we going or what?" Spike asked impatiently from his spot by the kitchen door. "Thought you said this was important."
The expression on Wesley's face was unruffled. After nearly a year of Spike's company, he knew the vampire fairly well. Spike would needle a rock to try and get a reaction, he could be as impatient as the day was long, and he was loyal to a fault. The best way to deal with Spike, he'd discovered, was simply not to rise to the bait. Ever. Staying cool, while treating the vampire with respect, gave Wesley a competent partner and an incredibly steadfast advocate.
It was a refreshing change from people he would not name.
"It is important," Wesley replied. "However, we have a meeting with an informant first, and we don't need to leave for a few minutes yet."
Spike frowned, obviously ready to be up and away. "This informant require my fists?"
"Hardly." Wesley took a sip of the tea Nika had thoughtfully brewed for him. She'd left shortly after he had arrived, but she had prepared the kettle and left out a plate of scones. If he wasn't careful, Wesley knew that he'd put on more than the few pounds she swore were necessary. Feeding people seemed to be a compulsion with her. "I'm sure you'll work out all the aggression you need on our target tonight. A Harin nest is hardly something to take lightly."
"Preachin' to the choir here," Spike reminded him. While he might not have the encyclopaedic knowledge that the ex-Watcher did, the vampire did have an impressive grasp of demon habits and lore. Wesley never was quite sure what Spike did or didn't know; it was often a surprise. "You gonna be okay to go in, though? Harin's won't take a bite out of me, but they'd look at you as a right tasty meal."
Wesley shrugged. "I'll simply have to make sure they don't get the chance to take a bite then, won't I?"
Spike raised an eyebrow. "S'pose so." He gave the man a piercing look. "You doin' okay, mate?"
Wesley looked uncomfortable before he managed to regain his poker face. He'd perfected it over the last couple of years, priding himself on not revealing anything to the outside world. Unfortunately, it seemed at times as though Spike had x-ray vision. "I'm fine," he replied stiffly.
"Yeah, fine," Spike echoed. His eyes were kind. "Wesley, 've been—where you were, yeah? 's not where you are anymore. You got a problem, be happy to take care of it for you."
Wesley only wished the vampire could. Nightmares, however, weren't something that could be fought with fists and fangs. This time of the year, near the anniversary of his terrible mistake and subsequent banishment, the nightmares seemed to plague him anew. It wasn't something he wanted to explain, but he knew he had to say something. "I haven't been sleeping well," he admitted. "There's not much to do about that, however."
Spike nodded, entirely serious for a change, lines appearing on his youthful face that weren't always so easily seen. Moments like this he looked almost more ageless than he usually did—both old and young at once. "Been there," Spike said. "You might want to think 'bout talkin' to Nika. She's got some stuff—"
"I'll be fine," Wesley interrupted, abruptly dismissing the idea.
Spike snorted. "Yeah, right. Look Wesley, if you're thinkin' the nightmares are penance, you've already paid your dues. 'sides, Nika gets a good look at you, she'll have me sittin' on your chest so she can pour somethin' down your throat. Trust me."
Wesley smiled, knowing very well that the woman's maternal instinct was finely honed. Spike was right. If she got the chance to take a good look at him, she would know something was wrong, and she would want to do something about it. In a way, Wesley didn't have a problem with the idea of accepting Nika's help if she offered—or ordered, which was more likely. It was the asking that presented the dilemma. He didn't want to ask.
"When she notices, I promise to take my medicine like a good boy," he replied wryly. "Until then, however, we have work to do."
Spike pushed himself up from the table. "'bout time."
~~~~~
As Wesley explained the nature of the demons as well as the plan for their destruction, Spike bit back the desire to shut him up. He knew by now that Wesley lectured as a retreat from nerves or emotions. If he was feeling anxious about the upcoming fight, or if he was having a hard time in general, he'd start sounding like a textbook.
Spike understood nervous habits. After all, it wasn't like the nicotine did anything for him. Smoking had become a habit over the years, something that eased the tension of the moment, that gave him something to do with his hands. The taste and smell of the smoke—particularly strong to a vampire—soothed him. For Wesley, it was rote knowledge and lecturing as though from a pulpit. It was best just to let him ramble on, let him ease his mind with words and information.
Harins were dangerous, but they weren't all that agile or hard to kill, from what Spike understood. They did like making snacks out of humans, being rather fond of kidneys, but if you had a pointy weapon and knew how to use it, they weren't a potent threat. Of course, they'd upset a kindergarten class when they tried to make a snack out of the teacher. Apparently, budget cuts had caused the classroom to be moved to the basement, and the voices had disturbed the Harins enough so that they'd gone to investigate. It should have been their hibernating season, but with ample temptation, they were willing to break tradition to eat. It had been a rather astute school administrator who had hired them.
Spike let Wesley's words wash over him, nodding or interjecting a few comments in the right places. He assured the ex-Watcher that he would be careful, that he wouldn't risk his physical safety more than he had to, and that he'd use his ax to go for their heads. "We know that there are at least four, Spike," Wesley stated, winding up the lecture. "Going after the head is the only way to ensure a quick kill."
"Think I don't know that?" Spike asked, with some amusement. "Wesley, we already talked about all that. Matter of fact, we both know I could walk in there and take care of all of them myself." They didn't actually know anything of the sort, and Spike was hoping the human wouldn't call his bluff. "What's got you so worked up, mate? Haven't heard that kind of lecture since I was in school, an' that was long before your time."
Wesley looked away, unwilling to share his emotional turmoil, unwilling to acknowledge that even though it had been two years, his friends' rejection still hurt. "I simply wanted to ensure your compliance."
Spike didn't like words like compliance. Submission, obedience, and subservience also struck wrong chords. He'd spent too much time belonging undead-heart, body, and mind to someone else. He hadn't traded one master for another. "I don't comply," he said, his tone hard. "Might agree, because it's a good plan, but I'm not your employee, Wesley. I do this as a favor to you, remember? I could make just as much money playin' poker a few nights out of the week."
There was more to the vampire's words than Wesley's poor use of semantics. He winced, nodding. "Of course, Spike. I'm sorry."
Spike shrugged, his anger receding as quickly as it had come. "'s okay, mate." He sighed. "You do know you start goin' off like that when you're feelin' a bit bad about somethin', right? 's like a tell in a game of poker."
Wesley wasn't sure if he had known or not, but he thought Spike might be right. "Now's not the time for that. We should go."
They left their bikes where they were in the parking lot of the school and went inside. The human had the directions to the basement memorized, and Spike followed his lead, his yellow eyes glowing in the dark—the better to see you with, my dear. It always amazed him that Wesley could walk so calmly with a demon at his back.
Spike wondered, not for the first time, if the man's sense of self-preservation hadn't been damaged.
The boiler room was exactly where Wesley's contact had said it would be, but when they entered, all Spike could do was let out a string of curses. It seemed their informant hadn't been accurate on the numbers. It was going to be an ugly fight.
They fought back to back because there was no other way to keep track of one another in the melee. There was also no other way to make sure one of the demons didn't take a chunk out them while they were trying to ax another. The Harins might not be quick, but they were big, and there were over fifteen. The numbers threatened to overwhelm them, and it seemed that those who had woken early had gone to get all their clan for a hearty meal.
Spike might have wished for a flame-thrower, if he'd had the time to think about it. As it was, the vampire was too busy killing Harins and making sure they didn't start munching on Wesley. Not to forget the fact that their information was a little off. The demons might not prefer vampire, but they weren't above taking a bite out of one.
He roared in full-out vamp mode as one of the smaller ones sunk its teeth into his leg. With a swing that would have put Tiger Woods to shame, the ax severed its head. The demons were fewer now, and Spike unexpectedly sensed that there were more humans in the room with him. In fact, he was feeling downright crowded with heartbeats.
As the last Harin squealed its death-cry, the vampire barely had time to deflect the stake aimed in his direction. "Hey!" Spike protested. "What the bloody hell was that for?"
"Gunn! Don't!" Wesley was suddenly standing between him and the tall black man with a stake. Spike could see a mixture of disgust and anger on the stranger's face that was reminiscent of the Slayer at her most Slayer-like. "He's a friend."
"You hookin' up with random vamps now, Wes?" the man called Gunn demanded. "I'd have thought better of you."
Spike could see Wesley stiffen, as though he'd been struck. From where he stood he could see two women, both looking worried—as though they wanted to intervene but couldn't. If they were who he thought they were, Spike knew Angel couldn't be far behind.
He wasn't.
"Wes?" Angel sounded incredulous as he came back in through the door, having chased the last straggler down. "What are you doing here?"
Wesley's voice sounded foreign to Spike's ears. It was cold, diamond-edged. "I might ask you the same, Angel. We were hired to clear out this nest by a school administrator."
Angel blinked at the "we," and then his eyes widened as he caught a glimpse of Spike. While Spike wasn't above giving his grandsire as hard a time as possible, he was not in a winning position. The ladies might not try for a kill, but Angel and Gunn had no qualms. Spike wanted out of this suddenly-small room where he had a chance to fight and/or run, and didn't feel so much like a trapped rat.
"Move out of the way, Wes," Angel demanded.
Wesley didn't budge. "You'll have to kill me first. Spike is under my protection, Angel."
Spike suddenly felt as though he couldn't quite breathe, even though air was unnecessary. In the past, he had been rescued, he had been relied upon, promises had been demanded of him—but no one in all his unlife had ever offered their life for his before. No one had ever put him under their protection and said, in essence, "You may have him over my dead body."
Maybe it was a bluff on Wesley's part; the human knew that Angel wouldn't kill him in cold blood, not after they had witnessed Wesley and Spike fighting the good fight. (Albeit for a nice, fat paycheck.) Even if it was though, Angel had tried to kill Wesley before, and the ex-Watcher had to know that the older vampire could be just as dangerous with a soul as without. For a brief moment, Spike really thought Angel might kill them both—go right through Wesley to reach into his chest and yank out his unbeating heart.
Spike realized that he loved Wesley in that moment. Not the poofy kind of love, but the kind of love you have for a brother in arms. The kind that would lead you to lay down your life for him. Words from his distant childhood echoed in his mind: "No greater love has a man than this—that he lay down his life for his friends."
Spike was a creature of extremes—love and hate, joy and despair. His love and loyalty was of the all-out, no-holds-barred variety, but no one had ever responded to him in kind, not even Drusilla. (Except Dawn. But Dawn was unique in his mind.) To be on the receiving end broke something inside him, made him softer—in a good way. The man might not know it, but with his words, Wesley had bound Spike to himself in a way he hadn't been before.
The moment passed, and some of the tension left Angel's posture. Wesley seemed frozen by the sight of his old friends, now that the danger was over. "What are you doing in L.A., Spike? I thought you were supposed to be in Sunnydale with Buffy."
"Shows how much you talk to her then, doesn't it?" Spike sneered. Relief and wonder were coursing through him in equal parts, and he was feeling mad-dog protective of Wesley. The ex-Watcher wasn't moving, his face cold and distant. "Left Sunnydale ages ago, Peaches. Decided to try my luck in the demon-hunting business here." Spike said nothing about the chip or about Buffy. There was time to spill that news when he was feeling a little more ready for a fight with his grand-sire. "What are you doin' here? 'cause we're not sharin' the plunder."
Angel looked uncomfortable, as though he couldn't decide whether to just leave or do the friendly thing and answer the question. Now that the crisis was over, he had no desire to be near his old friend or Spike. "Cordy had a vision of a nest of Harins under a school. We thought we should take care of it."
Spike caught the guilty look on the Cheerleader's face out of the corner of his eye, and he knew. Oh, she'd seen the Harins alright, but it was Wesley she'd come to save. Wesley and Spike, anyway, and she hadn't told Angel. Spike wondered if the older vampire would have come, had he known whom he was rescuing. Spike didn't think she was so certain, and that was why she'd kept the details of her vision private.
"We should be on our way," Spike said, laying a gentle hand on Wesley's arm, trying to pull him out of the trance he was in. He could smell the waves of fear and guilt rolling off his friend, and Spike tugged a little harder. "We've done our job."
Wesley moved as in a trance, and Spike kept a tight grip on his ax. He might not be actively hunting humans right now, but if any of them or his ponce of a grand-sire tried to stop them, he wouldn't even think about it. Spike met Cordelia's eyes as they passed, and they exchanged an understanding. Cordy had wanted to protect Wesley out of love for him; Spike would continue to protect him for the same reason.
They passed out of the boiler room under a gauntlet of eyes, and Spike managed to get Wesley up to the motorcycles without trouble. The other man had retreated deep within himself, his face deeply lined. "She knew."
Spike swallowed. He heard the despair in Wesley's voice and understood. Wesley knew that Cordelia had known, and that Angel hadn't. He could see why it might upset Wesley that there would be doubt as to whether Angel would come riding in to the rescue if he'd known the whole story. "Yeah." He paused. "I need a drink. I know a place."
~~~~~
Wesley downed his second shot with a determined air that Spike found impressive. It was obvious that the man had experience at this sort of thing, even though Spike had only seen him drink beer in the past, and then only a couple at a time. What was more impressive was that Wesley didn't seem to have any more trouble downing the shot of bourbon than he would water.
Spike took another sip of his beer and watched. Someone had to be sober enough to get them home in one piece.
When Wesley didn't look any closer to spilling his guts than he had before, Spike nodded to the cocktail waitress to bring him another shot. She brought the bottle a few minutes later, and Spike handed her a couple bills with a big enough tip to leave her smiling. He poured another shot, and sat back in the corner booth, the cheap vinyl crackling under him.
It wasn't the best of places—he much preferred Caritas for a good time. But Caritas involved seeing the Host, who knew Wesley and his past all too well. Right now, Spike knew the best kind of bar was somewhere they could drink in secluded anonymity.
Spike had every intention of getting Wesley drunk enough to spill his guts and lance that festering wound. He didn't care what anyone else thought—Peaches was not worth this kind of angst.
"Want to tell me about it?" he asked after the man slammed his third shot.
"No."
Spike poured another couple fingers and waited. "Might help."
"No." This time the vampire stayed silent. He could sense Wesley's resolve weakening. It had been the same way that summer Buffy was gone. Dawn would be upset over some little thing—not the big things, the big things he could always tell about—and he would get her to talk this way. Just little phrases and a lot of waiting, except he plied the girl with ice cream instead of bourbon.
Spike could be the most patient man in the world when it suited him.
"You know about Connor?"
The question was a surprise, but Spike hid it expertly. "Sure. It was the talk of the town when I got here a couple years ago or so."
Wesley nodded. "Then you know he was Angel and Darla's child?"
Spike shrugged. "That's why it was all over town. That why Angel tried to kill you? Somethin' about the kid?"
"I thought Angel was going to kill him," Wesley said. He had no idea why he was telling the vampire this. Even Nika hadn't gotten the whole story out of him, just enough to draw her own conclusions. At the same time, Spike's eyes were so—tender, if that was an adjective you could use for a cold-blooded killer. He knew exactly what Spike was—he just didn't care quite as much as he should. The vampire restrained himself for unfathomable reasons. That was enough.
Haltingly, he explained. "There was a prophecy that said the father would kill the son. I was sure—I tried interpreting it every way I could, tried getting around it somehow. Angel was acting strangely around Connor. There was no one else I could tell—"
"So you took the kid for his own good," Spike supplied when it looked as though Wesley couldn't go on. "Nothin' wrong with that, mate. You were tryin' to do the right thing."
"The methods I used weren't entirely pure, however," Wesley replied with a bitter smile. "And the loophole had already been found, just not by me. Wolfram and Hart had been spiking Angel's blood with Connor's. Properly translated, the prophecy read, 'the father will devour the son.'"
Spike frowned. "For a vamp, 's the same thing, mate. You couldn't have known."
"That's not what Angel believed."
"So you took the kid? Then what?"
"Then I was tricked, my throat was slit, and Angel's worst enemy took the baby to a hell dimension where he was raised to hate his father." Wesley's tone was dry, revealing none of the emotion that Spike could smell on him.
Spike blinked. "That would be a blow. So let me guess? Angel tries to kill you while you're down an' out, the kid somehow comes back, an' now they're playin' happy families while you're still on the outside."
Wesley looked up from his drink to stare across the table at his friend. "How did you know?"
"I lived in Sunnydale for a few years," Spike said, shrugging. "That's commonplace to what we had. Did you know Buffy's sis is a magical Key, and all memories you have of her are manufactured by a bunch of bloody monks?"
Wesley frowned. "No, I mean, I hadn't realized." He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. What matters is that I betrayed Angel, managed to deliver his son into the hands of the man who hated him the most."
"Yeah, you're scum," Spike agreed cheerfully. At Wesley's shocked look, he laughed. "Bugger me, Wesley, you got to remember who you're talkin' to here. 'm a Master Vampire. 've killed hundreds, thousands. 've done a lot worse than that to any number of different people, an' Angelus was worse yet. You had the best of motives. We didn't."
Wesley shook his head, ready to refute Spike's words, but Spike interrupted, continuing on. "Bloody hell, man! Screw 'em. Screw all of 'em. Angel's a right bastard at the best of times. I know. I'm related to the wanker."
"Spike, you don't understand," Wesley said. "They were—"
"Your family?" Spike asked softly. When the man looked up to meet his eyes, Spike continued. "You think I don't know what it means to lose somethin' like that, yeah? Don't know what I'm talkin' about? Summer after the Slayer died, I stuck around to take care of her kid sis because I made a promise. And I liked Dawn. But that's a different story. I fought demons all summer with a bunch of people who didn't much like me, nor I them. But by the end of those months, I thought we were a team at least, some kind of demon-fightin' unit.
"I babysat Dawn when no one else would. I watched their backs and made sure they didn't get killed. I did all of that, an' then I watched them turn their backs on me when Buffy came back. Suddenly I wasn't good enough anymore. I thought that summer meant somethin', meant they knew I'd changed anyway. They treated me like garbage, an' then the Slayer used me worse than any of them."
Spike took a deep breath, realizing that he'd revealed more than he cared to. "I understand. 've gone from bein' at least a little on the inside, to bein' used whenever it suited their fancy. I might be an evil, undead thing, but that doesn't mean I didn't know what they were doin'."
Wesley swallowed hard. He'd never considered that Spike might actually know how he felt because the vampire had been there in a way. Not that their situations were the same, but he knew. They both knew.
"Thing with bein' black sheep, mate," Spike said with a smile. "You've got to find other black sheep to run with. White ones always want to kick you out."
Wesley gave a bitter little chuckle. "I thought that's what we all were."
"Naw," Spike replied. "Or perhaps they are. But they're white hats who haven't realized they're gray yet, mate. They're afraid of us, because they haven't realized they're just like us yet, yeah? 'f they don't throw stones, they've got to realize they're livin' in a glass house too, an' it could all come crashin' down on 'em."
Wesley smiled wryly, the alcohol and the companionship making him feel much more mellow than he had in a while now. "And Nika? What is she in our world, Spike?"
"Nika?" Spike smiled. "Nika's a saint with true compassion for us sorry bastards. She's the one who's justified to throw stones and doesn't because she sees the heart of a man. Or a vampire. She's bloody salvation."
Wesley hadn't thought about it quite that way before, but he wasn't sure he could disagree. Not that he harbored any illusions that Nika was perfect, but she seemed the sort to always do the right thing because her heart was so tender. She had a sort of innocence that drew one in. Finding her and Spike that night had been salvation of a sort for him. "Quite poetic."
Spike looked discomfited. "Don't think so. Just plain truth. I don't do poetry. Don't even read it."
"Which is why Danika gave you a collection of Romantic poetry for Christmas," Wesley replied knowingly.
The vampire looked up and grinned abruptly, looking boyish. "Yeah. That's right. Use it for a coaster." Spike grew serious. "You know that you're one of the reasons I'm not eating two-legged Happy Meals, right? That's got to count for something."
Wesley tried to imagine life without Spike, without Nika. Tried and couldn't at this point. Even if Angel offered him absolution, Wesley wondered if he would take it if it meant leaving Spike and Nika behind. Spike might have the right attitude at this point. Screw them, indeed. "I think it might count for a lot," he replied, trying to stand and finding himself unsteady on his feet.
Spike was there in a moment to offer a supporting arm. "Let's pour you into a cab, Wesley. Think you might be able to sleep tonight."
~~~~~
Spike let himself in and found Nika reading on the couch. "Hey there."
"Hey, luv. What are you still doing up?" he asked, coming to sit down next to her.
She shrugged. "I was having trouble sleeping so I thought I might read for a while. Did you have any success tonight?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Well, we killed the demons, but not before Angel and his crew showed up. Turns out one of his sidekicks had a vision with Wesley an' me in it, an' they told him about the demons an' not us. In short, Angel didn't know who he was rescuin'."
"Did you need rescuing?" Nika asked, concerned. "Were either of you hurt?"
"M' leg got chewed on a little, but 's not bad. Wesley was more shaken up by Angel than the demons." He watched as Nika got a fond smile on her face. He had a sneaking suspicion that she was developing a crush on the ex-Watcher. All he had to say was it was about time. They were perfect for one another, if only they could see it.
"Sounds like Wesley," Nika commented. "Was he okay?"
"Got him drunk after so we could talk about it," Spike replied. "He'll be alright."
Nika rolled her eyes. "I'll never understand why it takes so much liquor to loosen your tongues."
"We're British and reserved," Spike said cheekily. "Takes a lot of anythin' to loosen our tongues."
She shook her head, ostensibly exasperated with him, but there was a smile hovering on the corners of her mouth. "We should invite Wesley over more."
"He's already here all the time," Spike pointed out.
Nika shrugged. "He's here because he needs to be, not because he thinks we want him to be. It's a completely different thing."
Spike thought about that and finally nodded. Want and need were two entirely different things. "Invite away."
Nika looked thoughtful. "It'll give me an excuse to feed him," she mused. "He's entirely too thin." She gave Spike a measuring look. "Of course, so were you when you started living here."
"Regular sleep and some TLC will do a lot for a bloke," Spike agreed. He reached out and tenderly brushed a piece of hair back from her face. "Gives us both an excuse to look after you too."
"It's much appreciated," Nika said with a smile. She leaned up against him, allowing him to pluck the book of poetry from her fingers. They shared similar tastes, and Spike allowed himself to revel in the familiar words as he spoke them aloud, from memory, listening to the sound of Nika's slow breathing.
He was home.