Collateral Damage, chapter 6
TITLE: Collateral Damage
AUTHOR: Cindy
RATING: NC17 overall
SPOILERS: Through Chosen and Home
PAIRING/CHARACTERS: S/B, ensemble
DISCLAIMER: The characters aren't mine, but Joss said I could play with them.
A/N: Many thanks to mommanerd for her mad beta skillz and continued support.
Previous chapters can be found here.
The door had barely closed behind Buffy and Wes when Gunn was up and grabbing his coat. "So, Angel, you're not gonna kill this guy, right." He didn't even bother to phrase it as a question, and obviously didn't care what the answer was, in any case.
"Not any deader than he already is." And that joke never got old.
"Okay, I'm outta here."
"Charles!" Fred rose from her seat, and Charlie turned back to her with an apologetic look.
"Sorry, Fred, I've got a meeting."
"A meeting?"
He grinned. "Some guys from Wolfram and Hart want me to 'do lunch.' Fancy restaurant, they're buyin.' Who am I to turn down free food? Besides, I'm not gonna sit around here babysitting two grown...vampires. This is your gig, Fred."
Fred’s shoulders sagged in defeat as she watched him leave.
"We'll be fine, Fred. You don't have to stick around either, if you have things to do," Angel said.
"Well, I kind of promised Buffy. And she is the Slayer. I think it might be a bad idea to disappoint her, you know?"
Spike and Angel exchanged a look. Did they ever.
"I mean, I know you two are vampires and there's probably nothing I could actually do if you wanted to hurt each other and that my promising to keep an eye on you is really pretty pointless, but I did promise Buffy, and a promise is a promise, that's what Mom always says."
Spike shook his head. The girl gave Willow's ramble a run for its money. It was kind of cute, though.
"Well, we argue a lot, but you don't have to worry about us dusting each other, not really. We've managed not to for at least a hundred years now." He gave Spike a pointed look. "Isn't that right, Spike?"
"True enough, though not for lack of tryin'. But you should stick around, Tex. I'd love to hear about your run in with ol' Angelus."
Her mouth formed a little 'oh' of surprise. "W...why?"
"Obvious, innit? How could I not be curious about Angel losing his soul when I'm so recently in the same proverbial boat?"
Plus, he was bored. Really bored. Should've gone with Buffy and Wes, after all, but now he was stuck here with the great brooding one and the ditzy scientist. The one who was now just a little bit scared of him. Guess he was bringing up bad memories, reminding her that there was once again a soulless vampire in the room. Her heartbeat ratcheted up a notch, and her breathing came faster. That shouldn't excite him anymore. Shouldn't make his stomach rumble and his mouth water in anticipation.
But it did.
When he'd been all souled up, all those sensations had been tampered down into something manageable, a side effect of guilt and responsibility. But now those roadblocks to his brain had been removed, and adrenaline coursed through his body, urging him to do something. Spike leaned forward, arms resting on his knees, and smiled at Fred. She smiled back uncertainly.
"I mean, I've lost my soul, and yet here I am, still a card carryin' member of the white hats. Not the case with your boss here, was it? So, what'd he do to you, pet? As I recall, torture was always his thing."
Angel pushed himself off the wall he'd been leaning against. "Spike, that's enough."
"I never cared for it much myself. Well, not usually. Took too long. Patience isn't my strong suit, I'm sorry to say. Angelus, on the other hand, had the patience of a...well, I guess saint would be the wrong choice of word."
"Spike!"
But Spike's head was too filled up with the sound of Fred's galloping heart to pay much attention to Angel's warning. Fear was an interesting thing in humans. They didn't realize it themselves, couldn't pick up on it like vamps could, but it was actually physical. Like sweat, but with a much sweeter perfume, seeping from their pores with its own glorious, intoxicating fragrance. He could hear it, smell it, and especially taste it. It enhanced the whole feeding experience, too. Gave him a high. Like heroin to a vampire, really. And he'd been off the stuff for way too long.
Fred tried to take a step backward, but her legs hit the sofa, nearly causing her to stumble. Then he could see her take a shuddering breath and steel herself. Wasn't going to give, this one. Wasn't going to show him how scared she was, even though he could tell well enough.
She crossed her arms over her chest and looked him directly in the eye. "I'm still here," she said. "That's all you need to know."
"Fred..." Angel began. He hesitated, obviously unsure of whether to go to her or not. Fred let him off the hook.
"It's okay, Angel. You two obviously have...things to talk about. But I'll be back later to check on y'all." They watched her disappear up the stairs.
"Spike, follow me!" Angel growled. He strode off in the direction of the kitchen, where Spike could hear him beating up on assorted cupboard doors and appliances.
Spike sighed. "Yes, your unpleasantness."
Well, now he'd done it. If he was going to be stuck here with only Angel for company for who knew how long, he supposed he'd better make an attempt to play nice, lest Angel get any more ideas about that cage in the basement.
"So, the yellow rose of Texas sports a few thorns, does she?" he said, as he entered the room. "I like that in a..."
Angel's fingers closed tightly around his throat, cutting of his words as he was pushed up and back against the wall. Spike's feet dangled several inches off the floor, and he clawed ineffectually at Angel's hand, trying to break his hold. It was no use - the fingers around his neck tightened, while Angel slammed his other hand against the wall, impossibly close to his face.
"Fred is off limits, do you hear me?" Angel's voice was measured and low. "She is one of the best women I’ve known, and if you ever pull a stunt like that again, I don't care what Buffy says, I will kill you. Do you understand me?"
Spike could barely nod his head as his larynx was in serious danger of being crushed. Abruptly, Angel released him, and Spike fell inelegantly down to the floor.
"Bloody buggerin' hell!" he said, when he could speak again. He rubbed his throat, still feeling the imprint of Angel's fingers there. "Didn't hurt the bird! Just wanted to know how a slip of a thing like that escaped the mighty Angelus, is all."
"No, that's not all you were doing, Spike, and you know it. Your white hat is looking a little dingy." Angel had gone back to slamming drawers and doors, and now mugs of steaming blood and a bottle of Irish whiskey made their way to the kitchen table.
Spike felt a pang of regret. He hadn't meant to scare her, not really. Well, it hadn't started out that way, at least.
"And if you're really that curious, they did a spell on the hotel, some kind of no-violence thing. I didn't hurt anyone. And then Willow came and restored my soul."
"Huh, she must've forgotten to mention that. Well, we were a bit busy with the world ending and all."
Spike turned a chair around and straddled it, taking a big swig of blood, which, though not human, was something much tastier than pig. Still, it could be better - he picked up the bottle and added a healthy dose of whiskey to his mug. Spike glanced at the label as he was unscrewing the top of the bottle. "Well, wouldja look at that! You broke out the good stuff for me. Angelus, I'm touched."
"Don't be," Angel said, taking the bottle from his hand. "All I have is good stuff." He sat down across from Spike and added a double shot to his own mug, taking a long, slow drink. "So. What's your game, Spike?" he asked, after he swallowed.
"No game, mate." Spike wrapped his hands around the mug, enjoying the warmth that spread into his fingers. "Got a soul, lost it, want it back. Know that must be hard for you of all people to understand..."
"Why?"
"Love the girl," Spike said. "Know that's probably also hard for you to believe..."
"No, that part, not so much. That's just the kind of idiotic thing you'd do for a woman." He took a big swig of his drink.
"Buffy's not makin' me, just so's you know. Was my idea, both to get it in the first place, and now to get it back."
"Then why? Why would you put yourself through that again?"
"'Cause I earned it. Fought for it. Was a part of me, and it was stolen away."
"You sure it's not because you don't trust yourself without it? I saw how much fun you were having terrorizing poor Fred. The demon craves that. And the demon's all you are, now."
Souled or not, Angel never lost the ability to piss him off like no other. "I'm not you, you pillock."
"And you never will be. Isn't that what this is really all about, Spike?"
Spike's hold on his mug tightened, and he could feel it begin to crack. With effort, he relaxed his grip. "Well, that's a good thing, the way I see it. When it comes to Buffy, I'd much rather be fucking her brains out than ripping her throat out. But I guess that's just me." He forced a grin and downed the rest of his drink.
Angel glowered at him over the top of his mug. "Gee, how romantic."
"And speaking of, how did you lose your soul anyway? Was it the cute little scientist? Can see how much she means to you," Spike mused. "But no...I bet it was the ex-cheerleader. Cordelia, was it? Yeah, she's much more your type. 'Cept for the hair. Make her dye it blonde, did you?"
Angel gave him a warning glare. Apparently he'd hit a sore spot. "Shut the hell up, Spike. Really."
"Where is the lovely Cordelia, anyway?" he asked, looking around. "She seemed so devoted to you, last I was here."
"She's in a hospital. In a coma."
"She's...what?"
"And you really need to shut the hell up about her. Right now!"
Spike hadn't seen such a pained expression on Angel's face since his days of mooning over Buffy back in Sunnydale. Well damn, the old man really loved her. Spike picked up the bottle and re-filled Angel's mug.
"What happened?"
Angel shook his head. "Magical...thing. Doesn't matter. I tried...I didn't figure it out soon enough. I was too late. Too late for her, and too late for...just too late."
Spike knew the feeling, and felt a wellspring of unexpected and utterly annoying sympathy for the big lug. "But a coma's not dead, yeah? She might still recover. Faith! Wasn't she in a coma?"
Angel shook his head. "Yeah, but...it doesn't look good."
"Well, fuck. I'm...sorry."
Angel nodded, and stared morosely into his mug.
***
The silence was driving Buffy crazy. She didn't know where to look, or what to do. And this had to be the slowest elevator in the world. It was evil, that's what it was. An evil elevator where you were forced to avoid eye contact with others for humanly impossible amounts of time. She looked up at the numbers, waiting for each successive one to light up as they slowly crept toward their destination.
"Well, aren't you going to say something?" she finally asked.
Wes had been, of course, lost in thought. "Sorry?"
"Say something. Something about the inappropriateness of my liaison with a soulless vampire, and how I'm the Slayer and professional standards and you're shocked at my behavior yadda, yadda judgment cakes."
Wesley smiled at her. "A lot has happened since we last saw each other, Buffy. I guess Willow didn't mention the closet...situation to you."
"Closet? You were in a closet?"
"Uh, no. Not me. Someone else.” He waved a hand dismissively. “In any case, let's just say that nothing much shocks me these days. And I'm not your watcher, nor anyone else's." He looked up at the numbers himself now. "Thank God."
"Who are you and what have you done with Wesley?"
Wes laughed and pushed the button for their floor again. "Does this elevator seem to be moving particularly slowly to you?"
Buffy leaned back against the wall and watched him out of the corner of her eye. A lot has happened was apparently the correlation of way hotter. Who knew?
"I've been meaning to ask you since you arrived," he said, turning back toward her. "How did everyone else fare during the battle? I hope you didn't have many casualties."
"Anya was killed. She was Xander's girlfriend. Sort of."
Wes frowned. "I'm sorry to hear that. That must be very difficult for him, even if she was, well, sort of."
She nodded. "Yeah, it is. And we lost a few slayers before Spike's amulet went all glowy."
"Faith wasn't among them, was she?"
"No, she's fine."
He looked relieved. "And how are the two of you getting along these days?"
Buffy shrugged. "She's okay, for a wanted fugitive."
A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Yes. Well. I broke her out of prison, so you can blame me for that."
Wow, Willow had really given her the Reader's Digest version of her time in LA. She had to start asking for the unedited version of the story.
The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. "Here we are. Finally." Wes strode out into the corridor, and she stood staring for a moment, wondering what all had happened to him over the years to change him so much. She'd probably never know. The doors nearly closed on her before she jumped through after him.
"Here we are, Buffy. The Wolfram and Hart Files and Records department. Hopefully I can gain access without using force this time."
Force? He'd used force to look at records? "I hope so too. Paper cuts can be so annoying."
"They do sting," he said, holding the office door open for her.
"Good morning!" chirped the woman behind the desk. "How may I help you?"
"We need to look at some records," Wesley said.
"Clearance number?"
"Oh." Wesley scratched his head. "I'm afraid I'm not officially employed here, as of yet. But if you'll just check with..."
"I'm well aware of who you are, Mr. Pryce. But I'm afraid I can't give you access today. Our files are undergoing some routine maintenance. Please come back another time, and I'd be happy to help you." She beamed at him.
Wesley glanced at the file room, row after row of metal filing cabinets and neatly stacked document boxes. It was completely empty. "Maintenance. I see." He reached over the desk and punched the woman in the jaw. She slumped backward in her chair, unconscious.
"I guess you have changed," Buffy said, but Wesley was already heading for the file room. "Alrighty, then. So, where do we start?"
"Angel's file, I would think," he said, peering at the labels on the drawers.
Buffy looked, too. "Which one is it?"
"Oh, there are several of them."
"Several files?"
"Several cabinets."
"Oh." Several cabinets.
"I expect we need the most recent." Wes went to the end of an aisle and opened a drawer.
"These aren't all...evil stuff, are they?" She gazed at cabinet after cabinet labeled with Angel's name.
"No, no, of course not. Though he did spend more time...well. Why don't you come down to this end and help me look?" He thumbed through several files. "If we knew what we were looking for, it would help. You don't happen to remember a name or title on the file, do you?"
"Magical soul stealing amulet thingy?"
He chuckled. "Would that be filed under 'M', do you think? Of course, there is the possibility that it's not here. Being that Lilah delivered it to Angel herself, she might have been able to bypass the usual record keeping."
Buffy opened a nearby drawer and began to pull out random files. "So, who is this Lilah person I keep hearing about?"
Wes sighed. "I'm afraid...it's complicated."
Buffy smiled. "It usually is." And she bet that Lilah was one of those things that had happened, too.
"Complicated, shomplicated. I'm just a simple gal at heart." Leaning casually up against a filing cabinet at the end of the aisle stood a woman in a power suit with a smirk to rival Spike's. Buffy was immediately on her guard.
"Lilah," Wesley said mildly. He pushed the drawer closed gently and leaned against it, crossing his arms over his chest and giving her a friendly smile. "Back from the dead again so soon?"
Her grin widened. "My cheeks were burning, and I knew someone was talking about me. Or maybe that was just the fires of hell." Her smile never faltered. Neither did his.
"Did you say dead? What is she, a vampire?" Buffy asked.
"Why does everyone think that!" Lilah held up her hands in mock surrender. "Now don't go getting stake happy on me, Muffy. Not that it would hurt me, but this is a new blouse."
"It's Buffy. And I could just cut off your head." She smiled cheerfully and took a step toward Lilah.
"Been there, done that." Lilah tugged at the scarf around her neck. "Don't want to do it again. And retract the claws, sweetheart. I'm here to help you."
"Help us how?" Wesley asked.
Lilah held up a manila folder and waved it in the air. "I believe you've been looking for this? I always keep a copy."
Wesley took the file and began to thumb through it. “I’ll have to take this with me and examine it more thoroughly back at the hotel.”
“It’s all yours. You might want to keep it under wraps until you get out of here, though. And if anyone asks, you never saw me.” For the first time Buffy saw a chink in the woman's armor as she glanced nervously toward the front of the room, but the receptionist was still out cold.
“How could we see you? You’re dead,” Wes said softly.
“Wait, do you actually trust her, Wes? Why would she help us?”
Lilah's expression softened. “Everybody has an Achilles Heel," she said. "Tall, dark and damaged here is mine.” She and Wes shared a long look.
“Yes, I trust her on this,” he finally said.
“But you must have known what was going to happen to whoever wore the amulet!” Buffy said.
Lilah smiled. “Well, we didn’t think that your current squeeze was going to wear it, though. He surprised us.”
“Join the club. He surprises me all the time. Is there a way to get his soul back?”
She shrugged. “That was never the plan, but I’m sure Wesley and his great, big...brain can figure something out.”
“So your plan was to bring forth Angelus,” Wesley said. “For what purpose?”
“Oh, you flatterer! You give me too much credit. It wasn’t my plan. I just work here. And it’s pretty simple, as plans go. We wanted him to do our evil bidding, of course.”
"And offering us control of Wolfram and Hart is...?"
"Plan B," Lilah said.
Buffy pulled a stake from behind her back and advanced on Lilah. “Are you sure this wouldn’t hurt? Let’s try it and see.”
Wesley put a hand on her arm. “Buffy wait.”
Lilah‘s eyes narrowed. “What did you think, Slayer, that something as powerful as that amulet came with no strings attached? It worked, didn’t it? You of all people should know that in every battle there are collateral damages. That’s the price of war.”
“But you tricked us! We had no idea what it was going to do.”
She shook her head in frustration. “You just have to learn to read the fine print. No one ever reads the fine print.”
“We should go, Buffy,“ Wesley said quietly. He tucked the folder inside his jacket, nodded to Lilah, and headed for the door.
As Buffy started after him, she glanced at the file cabinets on the opposite side of the aisle. Spike, aka William the Bloody was typed on one of the labels in bold, black letters. The next one said the same thing.
After the fifth one, she averted her eyes.
“So, I’m guessing she was your girlfriend?” Buffy asked, when they were back on the elevator. “Before the whole actually dead part. Uh, hopefully. Hopefully before she was dead, I mean. Not that I'm judging! I'm the last person who should comment on dead significant others." God, awkward much, Buffy? Thankfully, he didn't seem to notice.
Wesley's voice was quiet. "Girlfriend? Uh...sort of.” He seemed sort of surprised at his answer.
But he obviously didn’t want to talk about it, which she totally got. Time to change the subject. “Hey, I was going to ask you this before Lilah showed up. When I was looking through that drawer, there was this really thick folder in Angel's file labeled ‘Connor.’ Who’s Connor?”
Wesley looked puzzled. “Connor? I have no idea.”
Chapter 7
AUTHOR: Cindy
RATING: NC17 overall
SPOILERS: Through Chosen and Home
PAIRING/CHARACTERS: S/B, ensemble
DISCLAIMER: The characters aren't mine, but Joss said I could play with them.
A/N: Many thanks to mommanerd for her mad beta skillz and continued support.
Previous chapters can be found here.
The door had barely closed behind Buffy and Wes when Gunn was up and grabbing his coat. "So, Angel, you're not gonna kill this guy, right." He didn't even bother to phrase it as a question, and obviously didn't care what the answer was, in any case.
"Not any deader than he already is." And that joke never got old.
"Okay, I'm outta here."
"Charles!" Fred rose from her seat, and Charlie turned back to her with an apologetic look.
"Sorry, Fred, I've got a meeting."
"A meeting?"
He grinned. "Some guys from Wolfram and Hart want me to 'do lunch.' Fancy restaurant, they're buyin.' Who am I to turn down free food? Besides, I'm not gonna sit around here babysitting two grown...vampires. This is your gig, Fred."
Fred’s shoulders sagged in defeat as she watched him leave.
"We'll be fine, Fred. You don't have to stick around either, if you have things to do," Angel said.
"Well, I kind of promised Buffy. And she is the Slayer. I think it might be a bad idea to disappoint her, you know?"
Spike and Angel exchanged a look. Did they ever.
"I mean, I know you two are vampires and there's probably nothing I could actually do if you wanted to hurt each other and that my promising to keep an eye on you is really pretty pointless, but I did promise Buffy, and a promise is a promise, that's what Mom always says."
Spike shook his head. The girl gave Willow's ramble a run for its money. It was kind of cute, though.
"Well, we argue a lot, but you don't have to worry about us dusting each other, not really. We've managed not to for at least a hundred years now." He gave Spike a pointed look. "Isn't that right, Spike?"
"True enough, though not for lack of tryin'. But you should stick around, Tex. I'd love to hear about your run in with ol' Angelus."
Her mouth formed a little 'oh' of surprise. "W...why?"
"Obvious, innit? How could I not be curious about Angel losing his soul when I'm so recently in the same proverbial boat?"
Plus, he was bored. Really bored. Should've gone with Buffy and Wes, after all, but now he was stuck here with the great brooding one and the ditzy scientist. The one who was now just a little bit scared of him. Guess he was bringing up bad memories, reminding her that there was once again a soulless vampire in the room. Her heartbeat ratcheted up a notch, and her breathing came faster. That shouldn't excite him anymore. Shouldn't make his stomach rumble and his mouth water in anticipation.
But it did.
When he'd been all souled up, all those sensations had been tampered down into something manageable, a side effect of guilt and responsibility. But now those roadblocks to his brain had been removed, and adrenaline coursed through his body, urging him to do something. Spike leaned forward, arms resting on his knees, and smiled at Fred. She smiled back uncertainly.
"I mean, I've lost my soul, and yet here I am, still a card carryin' member of the white hats. Not the case with your boss here, was it? So, what'd he do to you, pet? As I recall, torture was always his thing."
Angel pushed himself off the wall he'd been leaning against. "Spike, that's enough."
"I never cared for it much myself. Well, not usually. Took too long. Patience isn't my strong suit, I'm sorry to say. Angelus, on the other hand, had the patience of a...well, I guess saint would be the wrong choice of word."
"Spike!"
But Spike's head was too filled up with the sound of Fred's galloping heart to pay much attention to Angel's warning. Fear was an interesting thing in humans. They didn't realize it themselves, couldn't pick up on it like vamps could, but it was actually physical. Like sweat, but with a much sweeter perfume, seeping from their pores with its own glorious, intoxicating fragrance. He could hear it, smell it, and especially taste it. It enhanced the whole feeding experience, too. Gave him a high. Like heroin to a vampire, really. And he'd been off the stuff for way too long.
Fred tried to take a step backward, but her legs hit the sofa, nearly causing her to stumble. Then he could see her take a shuddering breath and steel herself. Wasn't going to give, this one. Wasn't going to show him how scared she was, even though he could tell well enough.
She crossed her arms over her chest and looked him directly in the eye. "I'm still here," she said. "That's all you need to know."
"Fred..." Angel began. He hesitated, obviously unsure of whether to go to her or not. Fred let him off the hook.
"It's okay, Angel. You two obviously have...things to talk about. But I'll be back later to check on y'all." They watched her disappear up the stairs.
"Spike, follow me!" Angel growled. He strode off in the direction of the kitchen, where Spike could hear him beating up on assorted cupboard doors and appliances.
Spike sighed. "Yes, your unpleasantness."
Well, now he'd done it. If he was going to be stuck here with only Angel for company for who knew how long, he supposed he'd better make an attempt to play nice, lest Angel get any more ideas about that cage in the basement.
"So, the yellow rose of Texas sports a few thorns, does she?" he said, as he entered the room. "I like that in a..."
Angel's fingers closed tightly around his throat, cutting of his words as he was pushed up and back against the wall. Spike's feet dangled several inches off the floor, and he clawed ineffectually at Angel's hand, trying to break his hold. It was no use - the fingers around his neck tightened, while Angel slammed his other hand against the wall, impossibly close to his face.
"Fred is off limits, do you hear me?" Angel's voice was measured and low. "She is one of the best women I’ve known, and if you ever pull a stunt like that again, I don't care what Buffy says, I will kill you. Do you understand me?"
Spike could barely nod his head as his larynx was in serious danger of being crushed. Abruptly, Angel released him, and Spike fell inelegantly down to the floor.
"Bloody buggerin' hell!" he said, when he could speak again. He rubbed his throat, still feeling the imprint of Angel's fingers there. "Didn't hurt the bird! Just wanted to know how a slip of a thing like that escaped the mighty Angelus, is all."
"No, that's not all you were doing, Spike, and you know it. Your white hat is looking a little dingy." Angel had gone back to slamming drawers and doors, and now mugs of steaming blood and a bottle of Irish whiskey made their way to the kitchen table.
Spike felt a pang of regret. He hadn't meant to scare her, not really. Well, it hadn't started out that way, at least.
"And if you're really that curious, they did a spell on the hotel, some kind of no-violence thing. I didn't hurt anyone. And then Willow came and restored my soul."
"Huh, she must've forgotten to mention that. Well, we were a bit busy with the world ending and all."
Spike turned a chair around and straddled it, taking a big swig of blood, which, though not human, was something much tastier than pig. Still, it could be better - he picked up the bottle and added a healthy dose of whiskey to his mug. Spike glanced at the label as he was unscrewing the top of the bottle. "Well, wouldja look at that! You broke out the good stuff for me. Angelus, I'm touched."
"Don't be," Angel said, taking the bottle from his hand. "All I have is good stuff." He sat down across from Spike and added a double shot to his own mug, taking a long, slow drink. "So. What's your game, Spike?" he asked, after he swallowed.
"No game, mate." Spike wrapped his hands around the mug, enjoying the warmth that spread into his fingers. "Got a soul, lost it, want it back. Know that must be hard for you of all people to understand..."
"Why?"
"Love the girl," Spike said. "Know that's probably also hard for you to believe..."
"No, that part, not so much. That's just the kind of idiotic thing you'd do for a woman." He took a big swig of his drink.
"Buffy's not makin' me, just so's you know. Was my idea, both to get it in the first place, and now to get it back."
"Then why? Why would you put yourself through that again?"
"'Cause I earned it. Fought for it. Was a part of me, and it was stolen away."
"You sure it's not because you don't trust yourself without it? I saw how much fun you were having terrorizing poor Fred. The demon craves that. And the demon's all you are, now."
Souled or not, Angel never lost the ability to piss him off like no other. "I'm not you, you pillock."
"And you never will be. Isn't that what this is really all about, Spike?"
Spike's hold on his mug tightened, and he could feel it begin to crack. With effort, he relaxed his grip. "Well, that's a good thing, the way I see it. When it comes to Buffy, I'd much rather be fucking her brains out than ripping her throat out. But I guess that's just me." He forced a grin and downed the rest of his drink.
Angel glowered at him over the top of his mug. "Gee, how romantic."
"And speaking of, how did you lose your soul anyway? Was it the cute little scientist? Can see how much she means to you," Spike mused. "But no...I bet it was the ex-cheerleader. Cordelia, was it? Yeah, she's much more your type. 'Cept for the hair. Make her dye it blonde, did you?"
Angel gave him a warning glare. Apparently he'd hit a sore spot. "Shut the hell up, Spike. Really."
"Where is the lovely Cordelia, anyway?" he asked, looking around. "She seemed so devoted to you, last I was here."
"She's in a hospital. In a coma."
"She's...what?"
"And you really need to shut the hell up about her. Right now!"
Spike hadn't seen such a pained expression on Angel's face since his days of mooning over Buffy back in Sunnydale. Well damn, the old man really loved her. Spike picked up the bottle and re-filled Angel's mug.
"What happened?"
Angel shook his head. "Magical...thing. Doesn't matter. I tried...I didn't figure it out soon enough. I was too late. Too late for her, and too late for...just too late."
Spike knew the feeling, and felt a wellspring of unexpected and utterly annoying sympathy for the big lug. "But a coma's not dead, yeah? She might still recover. Faith! Wasn't she in a coma?"
Angel shook his head. "Yeah, but...it doesn't look good."
"Well, fuck. I'm...sorry."
Angel nodded, and stared morosely into his mug.
***
The silence was driving Buffy crazy. She didn't know where to look, or what to do. And this had to be the slowest elevator in the world. It was evil, that's what it was. An evil elevator where you were forced to avoid eye contact with others for humanly impossible amounts of time. She looked up at the numbers, waiting for each successive one to light up as they slowly crept toward their destination.
"Well, aren't you going to say something?" she finally asked.
Wes had been, of course, lost in thought. "Sorry?"
"Say something. Something about the inappropriateness of my liaison with a soulless vampire, and how I'm the Slayer and professional standards and you're shocked at my behavior yadda, yadda judgment cakes."
Wesley smiled at her. "A lot has happened since we last saw each other, Buffy. I guess Willow didn't mention the closet...situation to you."
"Closet? You were in a closet?"
"Uh, no. Not me. Someone else.” He waved a hand dismissively. “In any case, let's just say that nothing much shocks me these days. And I'm not your watcher, nor anyone else's." He looked up at the numbers himself now. "Thank God."
"Who are you and what have you done with Wesley?"
Wes laughed and pushed the button for their floor again. "Does this elevator seem to be moving particularly slowly to you?"
Buffy leaned back against the wall and watched him out of the corner of her eye. A lot has happened was apparently the correlation of way hotter. Who knew?
"I've been meaning to ask you since you arrived," he said, turning back toward her. "How did everyone else fare during the battle? I hope you didn't have many casualties."
"Anya was killed. She was Xander's girlfriend. Sort of."
Wes frowned. "I'm sorry to hear that. That must be very difficult for him, even if she was, well, sort of."
She nodded. "Yeah, it is. And we lost a few slayers before Spike's amulet went all glowy."
"Faith wasn't among them, was she?"
"No, she's fine."
He looked relieved. "And how are the two of you getting along these days?"
Buffy shrugged. "She's okay, for a wanted fugitive."
A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Yes. Well. I broke her out of prison, so you can blame me for that."
Wow, Willow had really given her the Reader's Digest version of her time in LA. She had to start asking for the unedited version of the story.
The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. "Here we are. Finally." Wes strode out into the corridor, and she stood staring for a moment, wondering what all had happened to him over the years to change him so much. She'd probably never know. The doors nearly closed on her before she jumped through after him.
"Here we are, Buffy. The Wolfram and Hart Files and Records department. Hopefully I can gain access without using force this time."
Force? He'd used force to look at records? "I hope so too. Paper cuts can be so annoying."
"They do sting," he said, holding the office door open for her.
"Good morning!" chirped the woman behind the desk. "How may I help you?"
"We need to look at some records," Wesley said.
"Clearance number?"
"Oh." Wesley scratched his head. "I'm afraid I'm not officially employed here, as of yet. But if you'll just check with..."
"I'm well aware of who you are, Mr. Pryce. But I'm afraid I can't give you access today. Our files are undergoing some routine maintenance. Please come back another time, and I'd be happy to help you." She beamed at him.
Wesley glanced at the file room, row after row of metal filing cabinets and neatly stacked document boxes. It was completely empty. "Maintenance. I see." He reached over the desk and punched the woman in the jaw. She slumped backward in her chair, unconscious.
"I guess you have changed," Buffy said, but Wesley was already heading for the file room. "Alrighty, then. So, where do we start?"
"Angel's file, I would think," he said, peering at the labels on the drawers.
Buffy looked, too. "Which one is it?"
"Oh, there are several of them."
"Several files?"
"Several cabinets."
"Oh." Several cabinets.
"I expect we need the most recent." Wes went to the end of an aisle and opened a drawer.
"These aren't all...evil stuff, are they?" She gazed at cabinet after cabinet labeled with Angel's name.
"No, no, of course not. Though he did spend more time...well. Why don't you come down to this end and help me look?" He thumbed through several files. "If we knew what we were looking for, it would help. You don't happen to remember a name or title on the file, do you?"
"Magical soul stealing amulet thingy?"
He chuckled. "Would that be filed under 'M', do you think? Of course, there is the possibility that it's not here. Being that Lilah delivered it to Angel herself, she might have been able to bypass the usual record keeping."
Buffy opened a nearby drawer and began to pull out random files. "So, who is this Lilah person I keep hearing about?"
Wes sighed. "I'm afraid...it's complicated."
Buffy smiled. "It usually is." And she bet that Lilah was one of those things that had happened, too.
"Complicated, shomplicated. I'm just a simple gal at heart." Leaning casually up against a filing cabinet at the end of the aisle stood a woman in a power suit with a smirk to rival Spike's. Buffy was immediately on her guard.
"Lilah," Wesley said mildly. He pushed the drawer closed gently and leaned against it, crossing his arms over his chest and giving her a friendly smile. "Back from the dead again so soon?"
Her grin widened. "My cheeks were burning, and I knew someone was talking about me. Or maybe that was just the fires of hell." Her smile never faltered. Neither did his.
"Did you say dead? What is she, a vampire?" Buffy asked.
"Why does everyone think that!" Lilah held up her hands in mock surrender. "Now don't go getting stake happy on me, Muffy. Not that it would hurt me, but this is a new blouse."
"It's Buffy. And I could just cut off your head." She smiled cheerfully and took a step toward Lilah.
"Been there, done that." Lilah tugged at the scarf around her neck. "Don't want to do it again. And retract the claws, sweetheart. I'm here to help you."
"Help us how?" Wesley asked.
Lilah held up a manila folder and waved it in the air. "I believe you've been looking for this? I always keep a copy."
Wesley took the file and began to thumb through it. “I’ll have to take this with me and examine it more thoroughly back at the hotel.”
“It’s all yours. You might want to keep it under wraps until you get out of here, though. And if anyone asks, you never saw me.” For the first time Buffy saw a chink in the woman's armor as she glanced nervously toward the front of the room, but the receptionist was still out cold.
“How could we see you? You’re dead,” Wes said softly.
“Wait, do you actually trust her, Wes? Why would she help us?”
Lilah's expression softened. “Everybody has an Achilles Heel," she said. "Tall, dark and damaged here is mine.” She and Wes shared a long look.
“Yes, I trust her on this,” he finally said.
“But you must have known what was going to happen to whoever wore the amulet!” Buffy said.
Lilah smiled. “Well, we didn’t think that your current squeeze was going to wear it, though. He surprised us.”
“Join the club. He surprises me all the time. Is there a way to get his soul back?”
She shrugged. “That was never the plan, but I’m sure Wesley and his great, big...brain can figure something out.”
“So your plan was to bring forth Angelus,” Wesley said. “For what purpose?”
“Oh, you flatterer! You give me too much credit. It wasn’t my plan. I just work here. And it’s pretty simple, as plans go. We wanted him to do our evil bidding, of course.”
"And offering us control of Wolfram and Hart is...?"
"Plan B," Lilah said.
Buffy pulled a stake from behind her back and advanced on Lilah. “Are you sure this wouldn’t hurt? Let’s try it and see.”
Wesley put a hand on her arm. “Buffy wait.”
Lilah‘s eyes narrowed. “What did you think, Slayer, that something as powerful as that amulet came with no strings attached? It worked, didn’t it? You of all people should know that in every battle there are collateral damages. That’s the price of war.”
“But you tricked us! We had no idea what it was going to do.”
She shook her head in frustration. “You just have to learn to read the fine print. No one ever reads the fine print.”
“We should go, Buffy,“ Wesley said quietly. He tucked the folder inside his jacket, nodded to Lilah, and headed for the door.
As Buffy started after him, she glanced at the file cabinets on the opposite side of the aisle. Spike, aka William the Bloody was typed on one of the labels in bold, black letters. The next one said the same thing.
After the fifth one, she averted her eyes.
“So, I’m guessing she was your girlfriend?” Buffy asked, when they were back on the elevator. “Before the whole actually dead part. Uh, hopefully. Hopefully before she was dead, I mean. Not that I'm judging! I'm the last person who should comment on dead significant others." God, awkward much, Buffy? Thankfully, he didn't seem to notice.
Wesley's voice was quiet. "Girlfriend? Uh...sort of.” He seemed sort of surprised at his answer.
But he obviously didn’t want to talk about it, which she totally got. Time to change the subject. “Hey, I was going to ask you this before Lilah showed up. When I was looking through that drawer, there was this really thick folder in Angel's file labeled ‘Connor.’ Who’s Connor?”
Wesley looked puzzled. “Connor? I have no idea.”
Chapter 7