As if you didn’t know.
Linwood had spies in the hospital, at least two that she had spotted and probably more. That wasn’t the problem. He wouldn’t have risen as far as he had at the firm without the sort of mind that thought of keeping tabs on the Slayer. Gavin had a couple watching her as well, but they were much more inept. You got what you paid for. Lilah had already arranged an accident for one of them and was considering subverting the other.
No, the problem was that Linwood didn’t think she’d know that they were there. It was galling for him to believe he could fool her. On the other hand, she reminded herself philosophically, having a superior who underestimated you could be an asset, at least for a while.
None of her thoughts showed in her face as Lilah folded her hands on the conference table and began without bothering to look at her notes.
“Joan is doing very well,” she said, emphasizing the name she had picked. They must all learn to think of the Slayer as Joan. There could be no sloppiness. “She’s recovered from the weakness caused by bearing Osiris’ mark for so long and the malnutrition and injuries from having to hide. I’m bringing her to the new house today.”
Silence followed her statement, and she made no move to break it. Never offer was her motto. If they wanted more, they could ask.
Linwood gestured impatiently. “And there’s been no sign of her recovering her memories?”
“No, and there won’t be. Our psychics have done everything they promised. That’s why we kept her in the hospital longer than necessary to give them more time to work. They’ve completely blocked all recollection of her previous life and placed some post-hypnotic suggestions such as that she should trust me.”
The smirk that crossed Gavin’s face at her last remark made Lilah’s muscles tighten imperceptibly and firmed her resolve not to mention the slight problem the chief psychic had reported.
“The blocks are in place, but they were extremely difficult to construct especially on the subconscious level. She has a very strong sense of identity…of self. We couldn’t obliterate the memories entirely without leaving her a vegetable.”
“But you did block them?” Lilah had asked.
“Yes, for now. However, they’ll need reinforcement particularly while she’s sleeping. It’s the best I can give you.” At her sneer, he continued in frustration. “This isn’t like changing the mind of a jury member. This is The Slayer. An occult being capable of battling Osiris and surviving.”
No, she wouldn’t report that and neither would the psychic. Not if he ever wanted to see his wife and child again. The Slayer would remain in her control, a weapon to be wielded as she chose. And things didn’t work out, she could always give Osiris a little present. It would be nice to have the Lord of the Dead owe her a favor.
“And you think you can handle her,” Linwood said, doubt obvious in his tone.
“No,” Lilah said serenely. “I know I can. Joan’s been awake for visiting hours this week. We’ve been talking, general things, nothing intense, but she’s already bonding to me.” She leaned forward for emphasis. “It’s clear from her file that she’s starved for a female mentor. Her mother obviously disliked her. She was put in charge of her sister, and then of the whole world, with no one for support but a group of misfits and amiddle-aged male librarian. She’d latch on to a loving older sister without psychic intervention.”
Gavin smiled a little. “She certainly could have used some relationship advice. Angel had a soul, but this other guy, Spike? What kind of a Slayer has sex with vampires?”
So, he’d read the file too. Lilah smiled back, “From all accounts, the best one that’s ever lived. We aren’t usually defined by whom we sleep with, which is fortunate.” Her tone became saccharine with concern. “That reminds me, how is the suit going anyway? Paid little Rosemary’s parents off yet?”
As he sat back with a flush staining his tan cheeks, she sighed inwardly.
I never thought I’d miss Lindsey, but at least he would have been smarter than this.
She had hated her former colleague, naturally, but she’d respected him too. Lindsey hadn’t been weak. Lamentably soft-hearted sometimes, but not weak. He was quite capable of telling Wolfram and Hart to go to hell - a redundant sentiment if she’d ever heard one - while Gavin would walk in front of a bus if a higher up ordered it.
Linwood looked from one to the other obviously enjoying the fighting. “Be that as it may,” he said cheerfully. “I think you could use a little help on this, Lilah. It’s all very well to have a big sister – a role your nurturing abilities suit you so well for.” He paused, and she mentally filed the names of everyone who smiled. “However,” he continued. “A young girl has other needs, this one more than most. I think we’re going to bring Gavin in on the project as a prospective suitor.”
Damn it, I knew he had something up his sleeve.
“Sir,” Lilah began, trying to keep her voice modulated. “I strongly disagree…”
“I'm sure you do.” Linwood rose, sweeping papers into his briefcase. “Stop by tonight with some flowers, Gavin.”
“Roses, you think?” Gavin asked, stopping her as she began to stalk down the hall. “Or a simple bunch of daisies?”
“You figure it out,” she said tightly. “I know she’s about 10 years older than you like, but you must have dated a female in your age group at some point.”
“Now, now, be nice to your possible brother-in-law,” he smirked. “Joan will love me. I’ll make sure of that. How did you come up with the name Joan anyway?” he added.
The question caught her enough off guard that she provided an honest answer. “I don’t know. She just looks like a Joan.”
“Wow,” Joan said. “I figured we had money with the private hospital room and everything, but this...”
She set down her overnight bag and walked slowly around the large living room with its picture windows and fireplace, arched doorways leading off into other parts of the house.
“Wolfram and Hart take care of their own,” Lilah answered cheerfully.
“Very, very well.” Still looking out over the quiet street, she added idly, “No cow hats for us.”
A sudden crash made her jerk around to see her sister staring at her, the floor covered in dirt from where she’d dropped one of the Get Well plants. “Lilah? You ok?”
“I'm fine,” she shook her head. “Just clumsy. What was that about hats?”
“Hats?” Joan shrugged. “I didn’t say anything about hats.” She grinned shyly. “Have you been into my drugs?”
After a pause, Lilah relaxed. “Must have. Let’s get your stuff put away.”
Joan picked up her bag and followed her through one of the arches that led to a hallway containing several doors.
“Like I said, your old stuff was burned in the fire, but I got some basic furniture,” Lilah said, opening a door. “Bed, dresser, that kind of thing. I thought you’d want to decorate it yourself, make it your own. And of course, we’ll replace anything you don’t like.”
“No,” she answered, smiling at the white bed with its dark pink comforter and the matching dresser and desk. “This is great.” Despite the colors and the huge bear that sat in the middle of the bed, the simple lines of the furniture kept the room from being childlike. It just looked…happy. “Thanks.”
“No problem,” Lilah said, squeezing Joan’s shoulder. “I’m just so relieved you’re here to see it. There was a while there when I thought you wouldn’t be.”
“Right.” Joan sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled the bear into her lap. Resting her chin on its head, she looked at her sister and asked the question she had wondered about ever since she woke up. “Lilah, what happened to me? You kept saying we’d talk about it later.”
“And it’s later, isn’t it?” With a sigh, she pulled out the chair from the desk and sat. “I should have told you before, but I have a hard time talking about it.” She wiped a hand across her eyes.
“That’s ok,” Joan said quickly, not wanting to upset her. “If you want to wait…”
“No, no. You need to hear.” Lilah said decisively. “And I need to be a big girl.” With a sigh, she began, “You already know I’m a lawyer with a firm called Wolfram and Hart.” At Joan’s nod, she went on. “Well, we’re not your standard firm. We do things most lawyers don’t do. It might sound a little cheesy, but we...fight evil.”
“Like going after rapists and drug dealers?” Joan asked, confused.
“Not exactly, although we certainly help make sure they get what they deserve.” Lilah’s mouth tightened. “I’m talking more about spiritual evil, occult evil, like vampires and other demons.”
Something shifted deep inside Joan’s mind. It almost felt like recognition or a memory, but before she could pursue it, a sharp pain stabbed through her head and she rubbed absently at her temple. “Are you serious?” she asked. “It sounds like some kind of story. Is that stuff real?”
“I’m completely serious,” Lilah said gravely. “And it’s completely real. A group of the...things...we're fighting kidnapped you, Joan. They set the fire too, and for a long time, we thought you died that night. Then, we found out that they had you. We searched for you for weeks and, God, they hurt you so much. When we found you, I thought there was no way you could live…” Her voice broke and tears filled her eyes. “I even thought it might be better for you if you died.”
“I can’t remember,” Joan whispered, head throbbing as she tried frantically to push through the darkness that lay over her mind. “I can’t remember anything about it.”
Lilah stood and crossed the room, kneeling in front of her and taking her hands. “I know you can’t and thank God for it, Joan. Trust me. You don’t want to remember.”
She stared into her sister’s eyes, wanting to believe her, to believe that everything would be all right, but... “But I can’t remember anything. Not you or Mom and Dad or growing up, and we don’t even have any pictures. It’s like I just got made out of energy and put here or something. I don’t know who I am.”
“You’re Joan Morgan,” Lilah said firmly and leaned forward to hug her. “You’re my sister, and I’m going to take good care of you. Nobody will ever hurt you again, not while I’m around.”
Joan hugged back, relief sweeping over her. Cared for. Protected. Safe. The feelings seemed...strange...as if they didn’t fit her. The way not hurting seemed strange. It was almost like she should be hurting, that not hurting wasn’t right.
Another flash of pain sliced through her head and she winced. Lilah sat back with a frown. “Headache again?” At Joan’s nod, she stood briskly. “The doctor left some pills for you to take for those. You need to have one and freshen up a little. We’re having a visitor tonight, one of the other lawyers.”
“That’ll be nice,” Joan said. “They sent so many cards and things. I’d like to say thanks.”
“This one’s a little different,” Lilah answered. “You and Gavin went out a few times. He was definitely interested in you.”
“Oh.” For some reason, the information stunned her. A guy? That she’d dated?
Well, why wouldn’t I date a guy? I’m not a lesbian. At least, I don’t think I am.
“Did I, uh, like him?” she asked cautiously, trailing Lilah to the kitchen to get her headache pill.
“I think the jury was still out on that one.”
She looked at the stiff back that was in front of her. “Did you like him?”
Lilah turned with a smile and handed her the pill. “Don’t go by me. I’m probably being overprotective. Just relax, Joan. It’ll be fine.”
“Joanie! It’s so great they finally let me see you. These are for you.”
“Pretty,” she said, staring absently down at the roses he’d thrust into her hands.
She was sure she sounded like an idiot, but the pill she’d taken was making her too fuzzy to manage anything else. Not that she minded. She was warm, comfortable, and drowsy and thought the Asian man looked sort of handsome.
Then, he leaned in to kiss her cheek, and her spine felt like it fused together. She jerked back, not understanding the conflicting impulses to panic and to fight, and stumbled, a wave of dizziness sweeping through her, a dull echo of her headache ghosting through her mind.
“Slow it down, Romeo!” Lilah snapped, suddenly between them. “She doesn’t remember you.”
“I’m sorry,” he said instantly apologetic. “I’m just so happy that you’re back.”
“No,” Joan said, fighting to keep both physical and mental balance. “I’m sorry. It’s not your fault. These headache pills are making me all head-spinny.”
To prove there were no hard feelings, she leaned in and kissed him lightly, quelling her stomach’s desire to crawl up into her throat.
What’s the matter with me? He must be a nice man. He fights evil with my sister.
“I told Joan what happened,” Lilah said after she and Gavin were seated on the couch and Joan was burrowed into the armchair.
“When I think about it,” he growled. “About them having you, I could just…”
“Very reassuring,” Lilah cut him off. “I'm sure we'll all sleep better tonight. Did you bring the pictures?”
She really doesn’t like him, does she?
Gavin seemed to agree despite the large smile Lilah plastered on her face. He shot her a look but removed several pictures from his briefcase without comment. “These are the ones who took you,” he said, fanning them out on the table. “Since you don’t remember them, you need to see what they look like in case they show up again.”
Swallowing, she leaned forward to look, but they meant nothing to her. Two men, one Black, one dark haired with glasses. A small woman with long hair. And…
“Is something wrong with this picture?” she asked. “Or is he wearing a mask?”
“He’s a demon, Joan,” Lilah said gently, reaching over to lay a hand on hers.
A demon…she stared at the green skin, the red hair and eyes, the claw-tipped fingers, and shuddered.
“How could I see them again?” she asked. “Didn’t you catch them when you rescued me?”
“We didn’t rescue you,” Gavin said. “You escaped. We’re not sure how. You were fighting with some other demons and got thrown into the path of a car. Wolfram and Hart heard the call come in and got you routed to some of our doctors.”
She shook her head. “You must really have friends in high places.”
“You’re special to us all, Joan,” Lilah whispered. “Very special.”
She moved her hands carefully over the sandcastle, shaping and smoothing its sides, smiling as it grew larger and became a strong fortress to shelter her.
“How can a structure stand when the foundation is built on lies?”
From the corner of her eye, she could see a pair of brown-fabric-covered legs, but Joan refused to look up. She didn’t want to see the face that went with those legs, that soft English voice. The knees bent, and she knew he was kneeling beside her, just outside her sandbox, but she wouldn’t turn.
“This isn’t your place,” he said with soft urgency.
“Yes, it is,” she said crossly, still not lifting her eyes. “I’m safe here.”
“You’re not. Look.”
She watched the fins circle her, cutting through the sand. “They weren’t here until you came. You brought them.”
“They were always here, just hidden. You must come away. You’re in danger”
Joan bowed her head still lower. She didn’t want to leave. There might be danger here, but she knew there wasn’t anything good out there, nothing but pain and misery and weariness.
“I’m sorry. I know it hurts, but there are people who love you, who are searching for you, who need you.”
Her eyes closed. “I can’t help them. I can’t help anyone.”
“What happened wasn’t your fault.”
The gentleness in his voice snapped her head around and she stared into his eyes, so kind and loving behind his glasses. “G…”
Pain jagged through her head like lightening.
The cry echoed through the apartment, and Lilah sprang up from her desk. Her bare feet padded swiftly and silently through the house until she reached the door to Joan’s bedroom. She frowned as she watched the Slayer thrash in her bed, face twisted in pain.
The psychic hadn’t been lying. Her identity kept trying to break through the block even with the clouding caused by the pills and the negative reinforcement that made severe pain accompany any attempt at memory.
Hastily, she lit the incense she’d been given and wafted it under Joan’s nose, breathing out a sigh of relief as she quieted back into sleep.
Returning to the living room, she smiled at the sight of Wes’s picture, fanned out in the group that Gavin had brought over. How upset he’d be if he knew he’d been cast in the role of Despoiler of Innocence. Or would he? They hadn’t played that particular game before.
She punched a familiar number on her cell phone, grinning as she pictured the expression he would wear if the Slayer attacked him at her command.
“Hey,” she said when a grunt answered her. “What are you wearing?”
If he doesn’t stop staring at me, I’m going to bite out his sodding throat.
Lorne hadn’t approached him or even spoken to him really, but every time Spike turned around, he met a pair of interested red eyes.
Sensing the gaze, he looked up sharply from the sword he was honing just in time to see Lorne busy himself behind the counter.
Swearing under his breath, Spike came to his feet and stalked across the lobby. “Get it through your head,” he growled. “I’m not going to sing for you.”
“What?” Lorne said with wide-eyed innocence. “Have I said one word about singing?”
Spike snarled and turned away.
Anger and frustration were welling up inside him. It was three days since he’d arrived in Los Angeles, and two nights he’d spent fruitlessly beating the pavements for some word of Buffy. Logically, he knew LA was a big place, and that others would have found her if she’d been somewhere easy to find, but the knowledge wasn’t helping him any.
He’d even tried the shelter where Wesley had sent Buffy, but that hadn’t gone at all well. When she shrieked and dived for weapons, Spike realized why the blond woman who ran the place had looked somewhat familiar, although she’d come a long way since her days as a vampire groupie. It had taken Fred, Gunn, and Lorne to persuade her that he wasn’t there to feast on her runaways. After all that, she hadn’t been able to provide him with much information, and the one bit he did get filled him with horror.
“Yeah, I saw her,” the kid said, while Anne hovered nearby, stake at the ready. “Bout a month ago. Man, she looked bad, sick and scrawny. Tol’ her to come back here, get something to eat, but she said she couldn’t, had to keep moving.”
He’d combed the described area with patience foreign to him, but there’d been no trace of her. No trace at all. Which was strange, now that he thought about it. Shouldn’t there have been at least a hint of her presence? He’d always been so aware of her, it was hard to believe there was no sign he could detect….
“Of course,” Lorne interrupted his thoughts. “If I was to say anything about singing, it would be something about how if you sang, I could maybe help put you on the path you should follow to find your Slayer.”
Nothing else could have done it, but that brought Spike around, scowling. Lorne’s face was serious with no sign of his usual perky cheer.
“I want to help,” he said simply. “Help her and help you. And not just because her Watcher will haunt me forever if I don’t.”
Spike ground his teeth, but the thought of a sick, lost Buffy wafting through LA like a ghost turned the tide.
“In private,” he said finally. The lobby was empty at the moment, but someone could drift in at any time.
“Of course.”
“Not that I’m completely unselfishly motivated,” Lorne went on after they’d relocated to Spike’s room. “I’m interested in you, Blondie. You’re a unique case.”
“Sure,” Spike snorted. “A bloke who makes a fool of himself over a girl who hates him. That’s a new and exciting concept.”
“That’s not quite all you’ve done,” Lorne murmured. “But you don’t even see it, do you? You’re quite the little truth-teller, but how often do those baby blues look inside yourself?”
“Isn’t that what you’re here for?” he asked, uncomfortable.
“Pretty much,” Lorne straddled a chair and leaned over the back. “So lay it on me, and I’ll see what I can do.”
Spike’s mind blanked. He couldn’t think of the words or even the tune of any song he’d ever heard. Snatches came to him of heavy metal, punk rock, but none of those fit, and besides he couldn’t think of how they began.
He didn’t want anyone looking inside him and seeing the despair and anger that had driven him to attack Buffy, then sent him to Africa to make himself able to kill her. He didn’t want people to know the welter of fear and pain and rage that had swirled constantly in his mind and heart for years now. The feelings that losing the chip should have cured but hadn’t.
If he sang, there was a chance he would get help to find Buffy, and that had to be all that mattered.
“Alas, my love,” Lorne sang very softly. “You do me wrong.”
Relief at having something to sing overwhelmed his embarrassment and let him join in.
“To cast me off discourteously.
For I have loved you, oh, so long.
Delighting in your company.
Greensleeves…”
He finished and stared at his audience expectantly.
Lorne stared at him for a long moment, then let out an explosive breath. “Whew. I was right, Blondie-bear. You are a special case. Angel was cursed with a soul, but you…you made the leap on your own. I don’t think that’s happened before.”
“Bugger leaps,” Spike snapped. “What about Buffy?”
“Go back to Wesley…yeah, yeah, I know, Fred sent both you and the Slayer to him. I knew before now. Go and tell him you’re from Angel’s line.”
“That’s it?” he said angrily. “Look, I only give a rat’s ass about Angel because he might be able to help me find Buffy. Are you telling me he knows where she is?”
“No,” Lorne answered. “I’m telling you what you’re supposed to do. I’ve got bad news. You can’t rescue Buffy. There’s someone else you have to help, though. Not Angel,” he added before Spike could explode. “I can’t see who it is, but she’s in bad, bad trouble.”
“And why the bloody hell should I care?” Spike shouted. “The only thing I’m here for’s the Slayer!”
Lorne was on his feet and in Spike’s face. “Then you won’t get her,” he said coldly. “Haven’t you figured that out yet? If she’s the only thing you care about, then she’s always going to be out of your reach. I don’t think it’s true anyway,” he went on, eyes boring into his. “When’s the last time you fed from a human?”
He reared back, startled, not having really thought about it until now but suddenly realizing he hadn’t hunted since Africa and that had been from the criminals and witch doctors he’d used to train against. “What’s that matter?” he spluttered. “It’s easier that’s all, getting the bags and such.”
“Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that. And go see Wesley.”
“Fine.” The door banged shut behind him.
“Let me get this straight,” Wesley said. “Lorne sent you here and said to tell me you’re of Angel’s line.”
“Right,” Spike said, still distracted by the events that had happened at the hotel. “And it’s not about finding Buffy.”
Wesley frowned into the middle distance for a few moments, then blinked, the light almost visibly dawning across his face. “No it’s not. It’s about finding Angel. Where’s that book…?”
He dashed to his bookcase and began rummaging with an enthusiasm that reminded Spike of Giles. To his surprise, he felt a slight pang at the realization he would never see the Watcher again, although if Rupert had known everything that had happened between him and Buffy, he’d have shown up with crossbows, blazing torch, and very possibly the rocket launcher.
The phone ringing interrupted Wesley’s search, and he caught up the cell-phone with an impatient grunt. “What am I…what?” He turned away and his voice lowered dramatically, making Spike’s ears perk up. “I don’t have time now. I’m busy.”
Even vampire hearing couldn’t penetrate cell phone static, but the human’s reaction made it plain that the person on the other end was a lover.
Well, good on you, mate. Least there’s somebody not getting calluses.
“You can tell me all about how infuriating I am later,” Wesley said somewhere between a growl and a purr. “Meanwhile, go work on one of your wicked schemes.”
He hung up and went back to the books without comment. Spike didn’t mention it either, not being particularly interested in anyone else’s sex life, although Wesley’s voice held an undercurrent of anger that reminded Spike uncomfortably of some of his own conversations with Buffy after their break-up. Whoever his lover was, things weren’t going well between them.
“Here we are,” Wesley muttered, flipping through the book. “Yes, yes. There’s a bond between vampires of the same line. Blood calls to blood, correct?”
“That’s right,” Spike agreed, idly inspecting the titles on another bookcase. “I could always get a line on Dru…OW!” he shouted as a book shot off the shelf and smacked into his nose.
“What are you doing?” Wesley asked sharply. “These are very valuable…”
Eyes watering, Spike glared, “I didn’t do a bloody thing! The book flew off the shelf and hit me! Have a word with it if you want to scold something.”
Wesley gingerly picked up the offending volume. “That’s interesting. Given that Lorne is being contacted by Giles, then occult forces are taking a hand with this matter. Perhaps there’s something here we need. ‘Weapons And Battles Mystical and Magickal’ he read with a shrug and thrust the volume at Spike and returned to his own. “Here. You’re the one it hit in the nose. See what you can find while I study this.”
Grumbling, Spike took a seat and began thumbing through the volume. He had never been one for research. That was for gits like Angel or Xander. Overthinking only got you in trouble. If you just got out there and hit the bloody thing hard and fast enough, you’d…
“There we are,” Wesley said. “That’s plain enough. Come over here.”
Spike lifted an eyebrow at the peremptory tone, but moved over to where Wesley was spreading out a map of Los Angeles. “What’s this then?”
“I’m going to use your blood to dowse for Angel.” Wesley pawed through several kitchen drawers, returned with needle and thread and reached for Spike’s hand.
He yanked it back. “How much of my blood are we talking about here?”
Wesley sighed. “I need to stick your finger with this needle. Is that all right with you, or must I get you a lollipop so you’ll behave?”
“Lovely, ask a simple question, get bitched at…”
He manfully didn’t wince as Wesley poked the needle into his finger, then suspended it over the map all the time muttering lines from his book. Spike watched in fascination as the needle began to swing and spin while the human’s hand remained perfectly still. Then, the needle jerked sharply to the left and stopped, suspended at a 45 degree angle over the ocean.
Wesley sighed. “It looks as if we’re hiring a boat.”
“Concentrate,” he instructed again. “Focus on everything you can remember about Angel.”
“Yeah, right,” Spike said. “I heard you the first 10 times you went over it. You just focus on keeping up with the time. I don’t fancy greeting the sun out here.”
It was just gone midnight, as they sailed out of the harbor, Wesley having managed to obtain a boat and diving equipment on short notice by a mixture of cash and intimidation that Spike had to admire. He hadn’t bothered checking back in at Angel Investigations. His presence, while grudgingly accepted, wasn’t exactly welcomed, and the others were all over at Caritas working to make the club usable once again. Lorne had been desperately excited over installing a second-hand piano he’d managed to purchase via a personal ad.
Even with the tense atmosphere, Spike wished he were with them. At least they were working on something that was supposed to help find Buffy while he was out on the water with an issue-ridden human working on locating his much-hated grandsire, whom Buffy loved much more than she ever would him.
Of course, according to Lorne, Spike wasn’t going to be able to rescue Buffy and instead had something else to do. He growled impatiently, shaking his head. Bugger that. He was no dark knight, no helper of the helpless. He was a vampire, he was evil, he was…trying to find and protect a Slayer that he’d been happily planning to kill five days ago.
With a sigh over the irony of it all, he forced himself to focus on Angel.
Feel it, the pull of the blood, the call of the line. He’d never been into the mystic side of vampirism. Fighting and feeding were more his style, but as he’d said, he could always find Dru, just by thinking about her, and Darla had once appeared and dragged him out of the middle of a torch-bearing mob just before they set him ablaze. Not that her punishment for him getting into that situation had been much kinder…
There. Knowledge whispered through his veins, gave the bearest tugging of his consciousness. He pointed and felt the boat change direction. Again and again he followed the faint call until he signaled for the boat to drop anchor.
“Down there,” Spike said, nodding toward the dark waters that surrounded the boat. “How long did you say he’d been gone?”
“Three months,” Wesley said briefly as he reached for the wet suit.
“Oh, he’ll be in great shape,” Spike said. “And his girl not even here to hold his hand and soothe his troubled brow.”
“I wish Cordelia were here too,” Wesley agreed absently, checking gauges once again on the dive tank. He stopped, looking as if he’d bitten his own tongue and wished he’d done it sooner.
It took a minute for the words to sink in, but when they did, Spike froze. “What did you say? Cordelia? Angel’s in love with Cordelia?”
“A bond has developed between them,” Wesley said uncomfortably. “First it was friendship, but it turned into love.”
“That bastard!” Spike said furiously.
“What are you so angry about?” Wesley asked. “Doesn’t this help clear the field for you?”
Yes, he supposed he should be happy, but he couldn’t help feeling a sense of outrage. He could remember how Buffy and Angel had been together, and although at the time he’d scoffed, inside he’d envied it, wished someone would look at him the way they looked at each other.
“They have this big, destined thing. You know how it was,” he fumbled. “The Slayer’s eating her heart out over him, and he’s off getting it on the side.”
“Unhealthy is how it was,” Wesley said. His face darkened. “Besides, love rarely works out the way you think it should. It doesn’t always matter how much you….” He shook his head abruptly. “Enough. Watch the gauges. I’m going over.”
“Never mind,” Spike said as he kicked off his boots and unfastened his belt. “I’ll do it. I don’t need all that stuff. And no, I won’t leave him down there. I want a few words with my dear old granddad.”
The dark waters closed around him, glided over his bare skin as he swam lower, the sense of Angel’s presence guiding him like a beacon even through the trouble in his mind.
All the time he’d pursued Buffy, her love for Angel had been like an unwanted guest at a banquet. Even if she’d taken up with him, Spike was positive she would have left immediately if Angel so much as crooked his finger.
…A vampire got me hot. One. But he’s gone…
Had she ever really believed that? Or had her heart always kept a place ready for Angel to move back in? However, if he’d fallen in love with another, if he was gone in truth…
…if the Slayer was alive, if he could find her, if she’d forgive him for the attack, if they could get past the anger and pain that had been between them…
Lots of ifs there. Probably some ands and buts as well.
Lower still and lower. The darkness was close to impenetrable even to his eyes, but he didn’t need to see now that he was so close. Confusion and rage and terror played across his senses, and he knew Angel was in trouble.
Spike remembered the hunger from not feeding for a week after being chipped. Angel had starved for months and only fed on animal blood before. That wasn’t as strong and didn’t stave off the hunger as well.
Angel’s brat and his lady friend weren’t pissing about.
He ran his hands over the box, feeling the welded seams, and then unwrapped the heavy cord from around his waist, attaching the hook to the box. He yanked at the cord and in response to his signal, the box began to rise as he drifted along side.
Back on board, he watched as Wesley used a blow torch to cut the seams and shook his head as the human picked up the bag of animal blood.
“That’s not going to work,” Spike said, watching Angel’s eyes follow invisible creatures around the cabin. “He needs the real stuff. Human blood.”
Wesley sighed. “You’re probably right,” he said reluctantly and picked up a knife.
Spike’s mouth watered as Wesley lowered his bleeding arm to Angel’s mouth and the vampire began to suck feverishly.
Cue the homo-erotic subtext.
Scene from a bad movie or no, it had been a long time since he’d had human blood himself, and never from a volunteer. He shifted at the sudden tightness of his jeans and turned away, picking up the book he’d brought along from Wesley’s as a distraction.
Come on, whoever hit me with it. Give me a sodding clue about what you want me to find.
“Y’know, I’m feeling under the weather myself,” he remarked as Wesley passed him, wrapping a bandage around his arm. “Could do with a bit of nourishment.”
“Very funny. I’m going to start back. Keep an eye on him.”
“Aye, aye, Skipper.”
Wesley left and Spike continued to thumb through the book, glancing up occasionally to check on Angel’s progress. Finally, when he lifted his gaze, he met a pair of dark eyes that were at least semi-focused.
“Welcome back to the land of the living,” he said, strolling over to the table. “Or, at least sort of.”
Angel blinked, squinted, and shook his head a couple of times. “Spike?” he said at last. “Is that you?”
Spike beamed a large, saccharine smile. “Angelus, how could you doubt me? The instant I heard you were in trouble, I flew to your rescue.”
With a sigh, Angel closed his eyes again. “I’m still hallucinating, or I’ve gone back to hell.”
Chuckling, Spike returned to his chair, and saw that the book he’d left closed on the floor next to his chair was now on the seat and open. He caught it up and began to read.
‘The Challenge for the Soul.’
Should a champion wish to redeem the soul of one taken by the gods for punishment and torment, they must challenge those self-same gods to battle within three new moons of the taking of the soul. If won, the soul is allowed to go freely to the afterlife and begin the cycle once more. If lost, the soul that was taken and the soul of the champion are forfeit.
He frowned down at the book. What did this have to do with him? He was no champion. He wasn’t interested in challenging any gods – even if that would be the fight of all fights. He didn’t know anyone whose soul was being punished by the….
He stopped. Yes, he did know someone who fell into that category. Someone who’d angered the god Osiris enough for him to come for her directly.
“Willow,” he whispered. “He’s got Willow.”