Cold As It Gets
Author: enigmaticblue
Rating: PG-15
Archive: If you already have my stuff, otherwise just ask.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters in this story. Need
I say more?
Summary: Set in a very AU world after the BtVS S6 episode Grave and the Ats
S4 episode, Orpheus. Spike never shows up in Sunnydale, Faith sticks
around in
"To the end of the earth, I search for your face,
for the one who laid all of our beauty to waste. Threw our
hope into hell and our children to the fire. I am the one who crawled
through the wire. There's a million sad stories on the
side of the road. Strange how we all just got used to the blood. Millions of stories that will never be told, silent and froze in
the mud. I know a cold as cold as it gets. I know a darkness that's
darker than coal. A wind that blows as cold as it gets. Blew out the light of
my soul...I know a cold as cold as it gets. I fight a war I may never see won. I
live only to see you live to regret everything that you've done." ~Patty
Griffin, "Cold As It Gets"
Chapter 6
Spike watched her flit around the room—like a hummingbird,
he thought, all quick motion and bright color. Her
yellow t-shirt stood out in the dimness of the room as she straightened things
up. "You need anything else?" Fred asked anxiously. "More blood, or maybe something to read? I'll bet Angel would move
the TV in here. We get a few channels with the antenna. I could—"
"Fred. I'm okay."
Her motion slowed, stilled. "I should let you get
some rest."
"You could stay." Spike wanted it to sound like
a suggestion, rather than a request. He wasn't used to having someone worry
over him.
Her face brightened. "Are you sure you want me to? I
mean, you probably want to sleep, and I don't want to bother you. You're
probably sick of seeing me all the time anyway. What with the being around
constantly, I don't want to wear out my welcome if—"
"Fred." Spike couldn't hold back the chuckle.
"Stay. 'Sides, I don't think it'd be possible for
you to wear out your welcome with me."
She laughed nervously and perched on the chair next to his
bed. "Oh. That's nice to hear." She gave him another anxious look.
"Are you sure you don't want more blood? Angel said you'd lost an awful
lot."
"I think I've been topped up again." Spike
looked away, thoughtful. "Don't think I've ever had anybody fussin' over a little slice like this, and now I've got a
couple mother hens."
Angel had been amazingly solicitous in getting him back to
the hotel and bandaged up. Considering the fact that the older vampire had made
it a point to avoid him for the last few weeks, it was quite a change. Connor
had shadowed them into the lobby, and Faith and Wesley had emerged from the
office where they had been talking something over.
In short, there had been no less than five people wanting
to make sure he wasn't going to dust anytime soon.
Wes and Faith had drifted off together once they'd made
sure he was okay. Connor went to get cleaned up, and Angel had helped him up to
his room, trying to say his thank you after he'd made sure the bandages were
secure. "What you did—"
"Don't." Spike hadn't wanted Angel's gratitude.
It felt wrong somehow, that Angel would think he owed him for Connor's life.
The boy was family, and Spike liked him. "Did it for
him, not for you."
"I know." Angel had given him a half-smile, then turned to see Fred in the doorway. "Let me know if
you need anything."
Then there had been Fred, fluttering about like a bird,
wanting to be sure that he was alright.
She'd been the best thing about being in
In truth, Spike tried to keep his thoughts as far away
from the Hellmouth as possible.
He hadn't thought it would go this way. Spike had believed
that the soul would change things, that it would make him a better man, that he could go back to Sunnydale and show Buffy that
he'd changed. What Spike hadn't expected was for the soul to change how he felt
about Buffy.
Oh, he still loved her, of course. Spike would always love
her, of that he was quite sure. He understood why she'd hesitated now, though,
and why she felt like she couldn't be with him. Spike understood how utterly
destructive their relationship had been.
And, as much as he loved her, Spike couldn't help but hate
her just a little for using him as she had.
Not that he hadn't forgiven her,
but Spike wasn't sure he could be with her.
He'd been trying to sort it all out in his head—how he
felt, how he should feel, where he should go next—when the visions had started.
Spike had made it as far as
With the visions had come the cracks in his sanity,
however, and by the time he'd saved Fred's life, Spike hadn't been sure what
was real and what wasn't anymore. When he was too late, and unable to save the
latest victim, Spike hadn't been sure if he had been the perpetrator, or if it
had been someone else.
Fred had managed to root him in the present, in the
here-and-now. She'd stuck with him, been a truer friend than anyone he'd ever
known. Spike wasn't quite sure what to make of it all.
"What do you want to do?" she asked him,
breaking into his thoughts.
Spike hesitated, and then he asked, "Do you have a
deck of cards? Haven't played poker in a while."
Her whole face brightened. "Sure! I'll go get
them."
Fred was lonely. Spike knew the signs. He'd dealt with
much of the same from Buffy after her resurrection, when she'd come to him for
comfort and companionship.
The Slayer had been using him then, too.
Fred, on the other hand, just wanted to feel as though she
had a purpose, and Spike could relate to that. Her purpose for the moment
seemed to be keeping him relatively lucid. Spike's purpose was saving whoever
needed saving in his near-nightly visions.
"Okay. Got them," she announced, coming back
into the room. Fred hesitated only slightly before joining him on the bed,
sitting cross-legged to his right. "What do you want to play?"
"Do you know Texas Hold 'Em?"
Spike asked.
Fred scoffed. "Please, Spike. I'm from
He grinned. "Ladies deal first."
~~~~~
When Spike woke late the next afternoon, it was to find
Fred's head cradled on his shoulder, her breathing deep and even. They had
played a few hands of poker, betting with the sack of pennies she'd had
squirreled away in her room. Spike had asked her whether she had a bloke on the
line, just to make idle conversation, and she had told him about Gunn.
Fred then asked him about any girls, and he'd told her
about Buffy, although his account had been heavily edited for sexual content.
They both must have fallen asleep at some point during
their talk, and Spike just hoped that he hadn't been the one to go down first.
About the worst impression you could make on a pretty girl—falling asleep so
she thinks you're bored when that was the furthest thing from the truth.
It had been nice, though, just to talk. Just to feel as though
someone wanted his company—not because he was convenient, not because he
wouldn't run off and tell her friends what she'd said, just because it was him.
Because she liked him.
Spike knew, because she'd said so.
The remark had been off the cuff, soon after he'd
explained that Buffy hadn't loved him, and that was why he wasn't going back.
Fred had said boldly, "Well, I'm glad, because I like having you
around."
Spike thought that maybe he'd found a friend.
Of course, part of that could have been because their boss
was a souled vampire, so hanging out with him wasn't so taboo. It could also
have been the general fragmentation of the group, the fact that all of them
were searching for something to hang on to. Something to keep
them afloat in the aftermath of the past year.
Fred had told him about Cordelia within the first week of
his arrival. About her visions, her leaving and coming back, the strange
pregnancy that had threatened to destroy them all. How Angel had had to kill
her. It had taken Spike this long just to sort through everything in his own
head, to be able to work out the dynamics of the group beyond the obvious
facts.
Wes and Faith were sleeping together—a vampire could smell
it. Connor and Angel were still dancing around each other, trying to figure out
what it meant to be father and son. Fred—well, Fred had him now, and she was
putting considerable effort into making sure he didn't go crazy.
Spike knew that he'd have gone completely barmy if it
hadn't been for her keeping him grounded. It didn't help that the pain the
visions brought on was much like the pain of the chip firing in his brain,
since that had only convinced him that he was the one causing the damage—or
that he was going to be the one responsible for the violence.
These days, he could feel Fred's hand on his arm, on his
shoulder, on his back, anchoring him, reminding him that the visions were all
in his head, no matter how bad the pain got, no matter how real it seemed.
These days, Spike didn't give a moment's thought to going
back to Sunnydale because there appeared to be better reasons to stay where he
was.
He felt her stir next to him, and Spike went still,
waiting to see what she would do. Fred's eyes fluttered open, and she offered
him a shy smile. "Sorry about that. Didn't mean to go to
sleep on you."
"'S alright," he assured her. "Thought
maybe I was the one to drift off first."
She frowned. "I don't remember. We probably went at
about the same time." Fred hadn't yet moved, and Spike couldn't say he was
sorry about that. Her body heat warmed him as little else did, and he couldn't
help but compare this waking to others where Buffy had run off immediately.
Well, Fred wasn't Buffy. That much was obvious.
"I should probably get up." Fred gave no sign
that she was actually going to carry out that plan.
Spike hesitated before saying, "You can stay as long
as you like. I don't mind."
She gave a soft sigh. "You know what I miss most
about Charles? I mean, our relationship."
"What's that, pet?"
"Waking up like this, with a man, feeling safe."
Fred's eyes were very far away, and Spike stroked her hair in response to the
melancholy he heard in her voice. "I always felt safe with Charles."
Spike was quiet, thinking about that. The worst part of
what had happened between him and Buffy was that he no longer thought of
himself as safe with the people he loved. There had been only one rule he'd
lived by over the long years, and that had been that he didn't hurt the people
he loved.
Spike didn't hurt the girl—and then he had.
Even now, he wondered if that had only been because it was
Buffy. They weren't good for each other, and had it been another girl, another
time, everything would have been fine. Or maybe it was because he'd been a
monster without a soul. Buffy had drilled that into his head—it was the soul
that made someone worthy of love. That made a vampire less of a monster and
more of a man.
Then Spike had gotten his soul and found out just how
wrong Buffy was. Or maybe he'd seen how right she was and had realized that
he'd never be worthy of love, and the soul didn't have anything to do with it.
Spike didn't trust himself anymore, but he hadn't needed
the soul for that.
As though she'd read his mind, Fred said, "I feel
safe with you."
"Don't know that you should, luv." He could hear
the yearning in his own voice, wishing that it could be otherwise, that he
could trust himself again. Wishing that the guilt wasn't such
a heavy burden.
"Why?" Fred demanded. "Because
you're a vampire?"
"Because I don't always keep my
promises."
She looked him right in the eyes, her face so earnest
Spike couldn't help but believe her. "You haven't made me any promises,
Spike, but you've saved my life a couple of times now. You're a good man."
"I'm a vampire."
"So what?" Fred asked.
"Lorne's a demon, Angel's a vampire, Connor's—something."
She smiled at him, a sweet smile that made his heart ache. "None of that
matters. You're my friend."
He returned her smile, because it was all he could do.
"That I am."
~~~~~
Spike limped downstairs a few hours later, favoring his
right leg. It was better, but it would be a day or two yet before he was back
to normal. A deep cut like that, through muscle and tendon, took a while to
heal even on a vampire.
Fred had gone to get cleaned up, but she'd mentioned going
with him to get something to eat. He never knew what to think about her
innocent presumption that they would spend time together, go places together.
It warmed him.
"Hey, Spike," Connor said, looking up from the
comic he was perusing. In an attempt to get out of the hotel and away from
Angel, the boy had gone with him and Fred to a movie one night recently. Fred
had wanted to see the latest Spiderman movie, and she and Spike had been forced
to spend the next few hours after the film was over explaining comic books and
their purpose.
Connor, like any other teenage boy, had been entranced.
Spike wondered if it wasn't because he had more in common with Peter
Parker—among other superheroes—than your average kid.
"How's it going?"
The boy shrugged. "Okay. How's the leg?"
"It'll be fine in a day or so."
The silence hung, and Wesley exited the office, giving a
short nod in their direction. "Have either of you seen Faith?"
"Not today," Spike replied. "You lose your
girl?"
Wesley frowned. "She's not my girl."
Spike and Connor exchanged a look, and Spike could see
Connor's lips twist into a smirk. "You guys are together," Connor
pointed out.
Wesley stiffened. "That's none of your business. If
you see Faith, let her know that I had to run some errands."
Spike shrugged. "Yeah, sure."
He watched Wesley leave, then asked Connor, "Is he always that much of a
prig?"
Connor considered the question. "Some,
yeah. He's good in a fight, though."
Spike nodded, knowing that being good in a fight covered a
multitude of sins in Connor's mind. "You seen
your dad?"
Connor shrugged. "He came down awhile ago, but he
went back upstairs again." Spike couldn't quite read his expression, the
boy's blue eyes troubled. "Can I ask you a question?"
"You can ask."
"What happened between you two? Everybody keeps
telling me how wonderful Angel is, but you don't like him." Connor drew a
pattern on the countertop with his finger, not meeting Spike's eyes.
"You're the only one who hasn't told me that I should give him a
chance."
"Figure that's up to you, innit?" Spike replied. He sighed, not quite
knowing what more to say in response. What he and Angel had was impossibly
complicated. "Angel's family," he finally admitted reluctantly.
"You might not always like the people you're related to, but it doesn't
change the fact."
"My father—Holtz—lied to me. So did everyone
else."
"Everybody lies," Spike said quietly. "They
might not mean to, but sometimes they don't even know the truth."
Connor's expression was uncertain. He looked so young, and
Spike's undead heart ached for him, ached for the boy who shared his bloodline,
faint though the connection might be. "Then how do you know who to
trust?"
Spike sighed. "You don't. You just gotta go with your gut, hope you don't bugger things up too
badly."
He nodded slowly. "Do you trust him? Angel, I
mean."
Spike gave the question the consideration he thought it
was due, and then he shrugged. "Yeah, I do. Trust him where you're
concerned, at least. He'd turn the world upside down for you, an' there are
worse things than being loved like that."
"Yeah, I guess." Connor glanced up. "My mom
loved me. I saw her once, and she said I was the one good thing she'd
done."
When he trailed off, Spike just smiled. "Reckon she
did, reckon she was right. Whatever else she and Angel might have done, they
got it right with you, lad. Must be nice having someone who
would do anything for you."
Spike wished he could say the same thing. He wished he
could point at something, anything, that would show he
wasn't worthless. That he wasn't a parasite, a useless, weak fool.
All he'd ever wanted was someone to love, who would love
him in return. Although he'd searched for his soul in the hope of being worthy,
in receiving it he realized that he never would be.
How was that for irony?