Fic: Divided Destiny. Chapter 28
First chapter & notes here (on LJ), for DW just follow the tags, and Master post of whole 'verse here (also tagged on DW).
Can also be found on AO3.
So, this chapter somehow just... grew. Also I invented a new Slayer. :)
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Rating: Teen. (Same warnings as the show basically.)
Characters: Spike, Angel, Illyria, Buffy, Scoobies + cameos from more or less everyone in the 'verse.
Main Ships: Spike/Buffy, Angel/Nina
Feedback: Is bloody ambrosia! (The secret ingredient is otter...)
Word count (this chapter): Almost 7000 words
Setting and Summary: As before. (Post-NFA epic quest thing.)
Beta: The ever wonderful
kathyh
Chapter 28
London, Summer 2007
Twirling her stake lazily Buffy took in the six vampires surrounding her.
“Gee, you sure know how to make an American gal feel welcome.”
The graveyard was old and probably quite pretty in daylight… In the middle of the night, it was as comfortable a place as any Buffy could think of.
She should probably worry that hanging out with the dead was as close as she could get to feeling at home in London, but right now she was simply enjoying herself.
“Only the best for such a famous Slayer,” the leader drawled, in tones so like Spike’s she felt a familiar stab of longing. How much longer until they came back? It had been more than a year and a half… She felt the reassuring solid weight of the pendant on her chest, the token that said he had to come back.
Focus Buffy!
“Why thank you,” she replied. “And who might you be? Not that I really need to know your name in order to kill you, but my mother brought me up to be polite.”
“Don’t worry about my name pet - after tonight they’ll call me Slayer Killer!”
Bursting out laughing was probably not the wisest move she could have made, but the very idea that this little nobody could take her down was too funny.
Stepping forward, insulted, he tossed his hair back from his face, making the most of his six foot frame as he towered over her, his little gang drawing closer. His look was an unfortunate mishmash of styles - the hair could have belonged to Jon Bon Jovi and the leather jacket wasn’t bad, but in combination with the ripped blue jeans and the converse it made him look like a boy who’d dressed up in order to intimidate the other kids on the block.
“Right lads, let’s see if we can teach this little Californian Princess some proper manners…”
Biting back the laughter still bubbling inside her, she mirrored his hair toss, smiling sweetly.
“Look Rambo, if I started telling you all the reasons I’m going to win, you’d get roasted by the morning sun. Mostly though, I just can’t allow that outfit to stay a part of this world.”
She seemed to have hit a sore spot and he threw himself at her, literally growling, her fist stopping him very effectively mid-jump. But before she could make a start on the minions, her cell phone buzzed.
“Hang on,” she said, holding up the stake and pulling out the cell with her left hand.
And froze.
The message was only two words long, but it changed everything.
‘CODE RED’
It had happened. They had done it. Wolfram and Hart were toast, and her Champions were… back. Right?
Without thinking she pressed the button to call the Council, her surroundings forgotten; except a kick to her head sent the cell flying and the last thing she heard before hitting the ground was the sound of her phone smashing against a gravestone.
***
Giles was woken by his mobile phone buzzing very loudly next to his ear. He disliked the thing immensely, but was forced to admit it was useful.
At the end of another long day at the Council he’d decided to bed down on the divan in the tiny room adjacent to his office, rather than try to get home. Once he’d answered his phone (and the message had filtered through to his brain), he became very grateful for that decision.
It was the Elder Priestess of the Devon Coven, and she only spoke four words: “The canary is dead.”
It took a second for the impact to hit, then he sat bolt upright.
“You sure?”
“No Rupert, I am calling you at 2 in the morning because I had a vague hunch. Yes I’m sure. And so will you be once you check.”
He flinched at the sarcasm, even as he tried to locate his glasses.
“Sorry, I was asleep… I meant to say thank you. I take it you have already-”
“Yes, we’ve begun our battles. Good luck with yours.”
“Thank you,” he said, and she hung up. Never one for chit-chat.
He took a second to just close his eyes, readying himself for the impossible avalanche of unending calamities that would undoubtedly unfold as Wolfram and Hart fell from their pedestal; then took a deep breath, got dressed and set off downstairs, phone to his ear and shouting to Ternisha, the head guard. He had hand-picked her to lead the night patrols - she was young, and had been involved with a girl gang in her native Bethnal Green before being called, but she was smart, capable, an incredible fighter and knew London like the back of her hand.
His first call was Andrew, who could pull all the strings to raise the alarm. Thankfully Andrew lived only ten minutes away (a mutual decision, they had become increasingly dependent on him) and showed up in no time at all, becoming a one-person whirlwind of organisation.
(For which Giles was grateful, he was not as young as he had once been.)
Office after office began lighting up, Slayers and staff pouring in, as news began to filter through from their contacts.
Everything from small skirmishes to declarations of renewals of old feuds, and it was like being at war. Except with the whole world as the battlefield…
But why wasn’t Buffy answering her phone? She’d gone out ‘patrolling’ as far as he could remember, but he couldn’t imagine any reason she wouldn’t have brought her phone. It had been (he checked his watch) an hour already - even if she’d been fighting, surely she’d have gotten the message by now?
Then someone called his name, and he saw a Slayer patrol stumble stumble through the door, carrying something… Or rather someone.
Black clothing, blonde hair, bloodied face - for a split-second Giles thought it was Buffy, his heart almost stopping, but then his vision adjusted itself and he realised whom he was looking at.
“Bring him up to my office,” Giles said, guiding the Slayers who were carrying Spike’s inert form. “Where did you find him?”
“Out the back, Mr Giles,” Ternisha reported, “Can’t have been there long, we patrol the parameter regularly. Almost didn’t see him, being all in black and that.”
“Well, I am glad you did. A few more hours and he could have been immolated. Right, through here, put him down on the divan - thank you girls. Make sure to check extra hard in case we have any other fallen warriors appearing.”
Realising that this was their cue to leave the trio of Slayers reluctantly left (they were probably worried, Spike was obviously hurt), and Giles wondered what to do now. Buffy still hadn’t made contact, but if Spike was here, what of Angel and Illyria?
Fetching his secret bottle of single malt, he poured a generous measure and - after holding it under Spike’s nose did nothing - guided some down his throat.
As expected this produced a result.
Spike gasped, choked, and coughed - then scrambled to a sitting position, swearing in pain at some injury and staring about bewildered, before finally focussing on Giles.
“What the- Where the hell am I? What happened?”
“You are at the Watcher’s Council, London. One of our patrols found you outside a short while ago. And I was hoping that you might be able to tell us what happened…”
But Spike merely stared at him, then slowly shook his head.
“I don’t… Angel-”
He stopped, staring into the distance, and then the door burst open, a frazzled-looking Andrew practically falling into the tiny room.
“Giles! We need you now! There is a… very important demon chieftain in the lobby with fifty heavily armed Groxlar Beasts-”
He broke off, stared at Spike, then blinked and focussed on Giles again.
“Demanding Buffy…”
“Right.” Where was she? Not that it mattered right now, he would just have to improvise. “Spike… Will you be OK? Is there anything we need to know?”
Spike looked at him for a long moment, like he wasn’t quite sure what words even were.
“The scream…”
Giles took a second, let Spike’s few words join up.
Holding up a hand to stall Andrew’s impatience he crouched down in front of Spike, caught his eyes.
“Did Angel sacrifice himself?”
“Should have been me…” Spike whispered, and Giles would be damned if Spike’s eyes didn’t seem to glisten with tears. “He just- I can still hear him…”
“And Illyria?”
Spike half-turned, as if expecting her to be next to him.
“I dunno. She-”
It was clear that Spike was in shock, and, deciding to deal with the immediate crisis first, Giles stood and gently patted Spike’s shoulder.
“No worries. Just take a moment, I’ll be back soon. Try to remember as much as possible.”
Striding out he quizzed Andrew on the chieftain’s objectives, of which apparently there were none, except for the demand to speak with Buffy.
And it had only been an hour…
Andrew had only omitted one detail, which was that the chieftain was female - and somewhat improbably named Maureen (a name Giles had never previously associated with seven foot tall warriors with purple scales), hailing from a strong matriarchy, and thus plain refusing to speak to any males. Or any lower-ranking females. She saw Buffy’s absence as proof that the head Slayer was afraid to face her, and this was as good as a declaration of war. Which wasn’t just bad because of the immediate bloodbath and disruption, but also because she represented one of Wolfram and Hart’s oldest clients, and if they got on her wrong side she’d take a whole swathe of their clients with her. As a matter of fact she was one of their top priorities, but they had so far never been able to make contact, so had very little information.
Just as Giles was about to get one of the younger Slayers to pretend to be Buffy (he had called Faith, who was in America, and who had merely sworn at him in very colourful language and hung up), the front door inched open, and Willow sidled through, apologetic smile on her face.
“Sorry guys, I got a little delayed, there was a… thing. Like, a big green thing, with tentacles, it was eating people, I thought I should probably try to stop it… Turns out there was a Wolfram and Hart prison thing just down the road from me, and Talnor was hungry, so…”
Looking around at the fifty Groxlars surrounding her, her voice trailed off. Talnor, clutched in her right hand against her chest, growled quietly.
“Enough of the prattle! Attack!”
Maureen’s voice rang out coldly and sharply against the marble floors and wood-panelled walls, but even as all the Slayers who had quietly gathered drew their weapons, Willow’s left hand flung up, her eyes went completely black and Talnor’s growl was suddenly a roar.
A second later every Groxlar Beast turned on Maureen.
“Don’t kill her!” Giles cried, and Willow turned her head a fraction, studying him with those dark, unreadable eyes.
“Why?”
Who was she really, he wondered. She was her old self most of the time, but then there would be glimpses (or, like now, full-blown incidents) where it seemed as if the human face was nothing but a mask.
“I will negotiate with this woman.” Maureen stated, before turning to Willow, ignoring the hordes surrounding her. “What is your name?”
“I am Talnor, the Beast Master,” Willow replied, then blinked, eyes returning to normal.
“Andrew - bring me the relevant dossier. Giles, where do you want these stashing?”
“Um, holding cell 5 in the cellar should be able to hold them all,” Giles replied, and Willow nodded:
“Go.”
And as one the whole pack turned and in perfect unison walked towards the cellar doors.
“Ternisha, lock them in,” Giles said quietly, noticing the Slayer by his side, but it was Willow who replied. Her eyes might have returned to normal, but her voice was still coolly controlled and almost monotone.
“No need for locks, they won’t even blink without my say-so. I’ll take our guest into the second conference room.”
And with that she smiled at Maureen, holding out her left hand towards the stairs, her voice returning to normal in the process.
“Sorry about all that. Purple scales, how unusual…”
***
Slightly less than an hour later Buffy walked through the front doors to the Watcher’s Council.
“Buffy! You’re OK!” Ternisha exclaimed, literally skidding to a halt and almost dropping the tray with tea and biscuits she was carrying.
“Why wouldn’t I be OK?” Buffy replied, possibly a tad aggressively, but she wasn’t in a good mood, having spent the best part of the preceding two hours cursing the vampires who had broken her cell, the cell itself for being so flimsy, and most of all London for being enormous and herself for going so far away for a few stray vamps. The actual dusting had only taken seconds (once she’d gotten back on her feet), but the journey back had been endless.
Moving to London for good more than a year previously meant that at least she had an idea where she was going, but she missed Sunnydale more than she could explain. She’d been able to run everywhere… And sure, the motorbike was cool, but London was so huge that even when hovering at the speed limit everywhere took forever.
The journey back had also been interrupted by random fights that she felt she had to stop. She couldn’t know if they were just the regular bust-ups or some Wolfram and Hart related incident…
Looking around at the fantastical hive of activity now surrounding her, it seemed unreal that she had helped create this, that she knew what they were all doing. What the blue demon with the wings had been brought in to help with, and which areas the three junior Watchers she spotted in the office opposite would be investigating and…
Hang on.
“Wait, why do you have tea and biscuits?”
Of all the ridiculous things…
Ternisha pulled a face.
“Willow is in a super important meeting with a big purple demon lady, and they demanded tea. And apparently that is more important than patrolling.”
Buffy opened her mouth, faltered, then - as Ternisha made to leave - took hold of her arm.
“Are they back?”
The other Slayer hesitated, then nodded her head towards the biggest meeting room to her left.
“Spike’s in there.”
“Thank you,” Buffy said, unable to express the depth of her gratitude for this simple but impossibly important information.
He had made it. He was alive.
The meeting room had banks of computers running down both sides, all of them already occupied by their best tech people and watched over by Andrew who was here there and everywhere, having not just become an expert on Illyria’s network, but even going so far as getting a few mystical tattoos in order to move up the ranks.
But she barely noticed them, because in the middle, at the other end of the large central table already full of maps, books and papers stood Giles, Eve - and Spike.
She almost sagged in immediate relief at visual proof of Ternisha’s words, before stepping forward as she began taking in the state of him. She needed a moment. Eighteen months of waiting…
His hair was as short and bleached-white as it had been last time, except now it was dirty and unruly, dried blood running from his temple down his cheek. His hands were bloody and dirty too, his coat was torn at the shoulder - the top of his left sleeve covered by a rudimentary bandage - and when he moved he winced.
“What kind of symbols?” Eve asked, “can you describe them?” and he slowly shook his head.
“It’s… a blur. Suffered a good deal of blood loss before we got there, not exactly on top form pet. And that place, it… screwed with our heads. Everything was a bloody illusion…”
Eve pressed her lips together with that patented long-suffering look she always adopted when people were less prepared than she wished. Buffy would be forever grateful that they had managed to track her down and convince her to work for them, as her knowledge of Wolfram and Hart was second to none, but she was not the easiest person to work with.
“Spike!” she cried, knowing that he had to know she was there, and slowly he lifted his head to look at her, eyes dark and exhausted.
Making her way around the table, she tried to reach out, hand faltering mid-motion.
“What happened?”
“We did it,” he replied, voice hollow.
“I don’t understand,” she said, grasping his hand and laying a thumb across his wrist to confirm what her other senses had already told her. No pulse. Just cool vampire skin, covered in yet more dried blood. She looked around, tried to make sense of it all.
“Where’s Angel?”
He closed his eyes, almost swaying on his feet.
“Angel’s gone.”
For a second the world froze. Surely he couldn’t mean...
Glancing at the pile of books in front of him he quietly continued.
“Illyria too. It was…”
His voice trailed off, and, shooting Buffy a quick apologetic glance, Eve pushed yet another book under his nose.
“The symbols - did they look like this?”
He blinked, shook his head. His voice sounded so fatigued she ached, even as she still tried to come to terms with what he’d just told her. Angel couldn’t...
“No. No nothing like that. Why’s it important again? And… how are you… here?”
Eve sighed.
“Listen Champ I’m here to help - funnily enough there are not a lot of job opportunities for someone like me. But if we can unravel the underpinnings that you undid we will know what angle to tackle them from. Bit like knowing what alphabet an encrypted note is written in really helps?”
He shook his head.
“Sorry, it’s just a blank, all I remember is-”
He stopped, and Giles stepped around him and quietly pulled Buffy aside.
“One of the patrols found him outside in the alley about an hour ago. And I know he will need a break, but we need to know everything that happened, so we can adapt our plans. Understood? Buffy?”
“Yes, yes of course,” she replied, not really listening. What had he meant ‘Angel’s gone’? Her brain didn’t seem to be functioning.
“Buffy!” Giles said, and she tried to focus on him again.
“I asked where you have been - we tried to call you, but you never replied.”
“My cell broke,” she replied, a little too curtly probably, but dammit Spike was hurt and Angel ‘gone’…
“Buffy!”
Andrew this time.
“Look, I need you, just for a second, or maybe ten, or twenty, but we have a minor emergency which could any moment become major and-”
“Fine.”
She allowed herself to be led away, silently wondering why she had decided that being Top Slayer was a good idea and momentarily missing her Dolce Vita in Rome, before remembering The Immortal, Ilona Costa Bianchi, never getting the hang of Italian, and all the other reasons she’d left.
***
Several hours later, a bright morning sun shining through the windows, Giles called a big meeting, Andrew having linked up all the different factions around the world through video links, and Buffy (on autopilot, and keen to get it all over with) laid out the overall structure of their plans, which bits to change, which parts to focus on.
They were only interrupted twice - first by a swarm of locusts which Willow swiftly banished and secondly by a six-armed demon which kicked its way through the doors, yelling ‘Prepare to di-’ before seven different Slayers attacked it simultaneously and it ended up in many smaller pieces all over the floor.
To their relief their careful preparation was paying off.
They had been inundated with calls for protection, as well as clans and groups declaring war - and (surprisingly) many factions and clients saying they were happy to work with the Watcher’s Council. Andrew had created a massive interactive programme (his pride and joy), a project he had worked on for months, but which was now running smoothly and efficiently.
Giles had been sceptical, but he had to admit that it was actually working - they had instant information, only delayed by the fact of people having to input the updates; but overall they could tell at a glance who was with them, who against, who they hadn’t heard from yet.
Spike didn’t speak at all, silently leaning against the wall like a black-clad and bloodied ghost.
The meeting over Buffy got up, determined to get him alone so she could look after him, but realised he’d slipped away in the melee.
When she finally found him, he was simply sitting on the stairs, like a stone in a stream, people walking around him.
“Spike,” she said, and although he was looking at her, he didn’t seem to see her at all.
“I should call Connor. And Nina. And Lorne… Where did he get to again? He doesn’t seem to be around… ”
She realised that his leg was hurt also, his jeans torn and caked in dried blood.
“Spike!”
She took hold of his face, and he visibly flinched away from her. It was all she could do not to yell out of desperation.
“What happened? What did this to you? We need to get you bandaged up, I have some spare clothes-”
“Not important,” he cut her off, then stood. “I need to borrow a phone, I think mine was killed by the same beasts that did for my arm…”
And he walked past her down the stairs, as if she wasn’t even there.
Unsure how to react, she barely noticed Willow until her friend was standing immediately in front of her.
“Did you see that?” Buffy asked. “He’s behaving-“
“He’s behaving like - like he did after you died,” Willow said gently. “Give him time.”
But surely he would come to her for comfort? It made no sense. And she wasn’t going to let him just suffer. She couldn’t process the loss of Angel just yet, but Spike was here and she could help him, whether he wanted it or not. He certainly needed it. Stupid bloody vampires.
She waited until he’d finished his phone calls, then marched him along to the shower rooms, handing him a pile of clean clothes and towels before guarding the door until he had finished getting clean, fervently ignoring Giles calling for her, as well as the orange goo that was slowly dripping down from the ceiling above and the strange scuttling sound from down the hallway.
Once the shower had stopped she let herself in, locking the door behind her and then inhaling sharply as she took the extent of the damage. Without the armour (discarded in a pile along with the coat and the other clothing) it would have been infinitely worse, but his upper left arm had been nearly torn to shreds, his shoulder was so mangled she barely knew how to start, and his legs had lacerations to the bone.
“Oh god,” she whispered, before grimly getting to work bandaging him up as best she could. He seemed to disengage again, lost in himself, somewhere she couldn’t follow. Or maybe it was just the pain getting to him.
“Spike, if you need to talk, I’m here, OK?”
He nodded, but didn’t reply.
***
For the next few days ‘work’ took over wholesale, a never-ending avalanche of crises that required a multitude of different responses. They careened from near-disaster to full blown emergency about every half hour, and Buffy began to wish for a simple straight-forward apocalypse, not three million separate calamities.
Most newspapers had Wolfram and Hart’s collapse on their front pages, endless columns about the unexpected fall of the ancient law firm and how safe were other companies? The panic seeped through to the stock market and economic anxieties were added to every other problem.
Spike plain disappeared, and by the time Buffy realised she decided not to worry - especially as she had no way to track him down, or any time in which to do so, as the next minute they received reports of three warlocks appearing in the middle of Oxford Circus and the tourists thinking it was a promotion for a new show or movie, and they had to despatch Willow before the situation turned into a bloodbath.
Then they had to gather a team to tackle Wolfram and Hart’s London offices, or more precisely all the things therein which might now get out - according to Eve, Wolfram and Hart had been very good at keeping anything undesirable (I.e. Creatures or persons who would fight against them) locked up, but now… no one knew.
It had been one of the top priorities on their agenda, but they had been too snowed under to even think about it for the first day. And reports from other Slayer hubs elsewhere in the world made it a very unappealing prospect. Ternisha’s suggestion of just blowing it up made Eve shake her head.
“That would probably make all the schools explode too - or something similar. There are usually fail safes at all levels, and more magical protections than you can imagine. I have given you basic schematics, but I won’t know about any particulars.”
“I’m in!” Andrew announced triumphantly, cutting her off, and they all turned to him. Looking up from his laptop, he glanced around.
“One of their employees was a follower Illyria, and now they’ve gone under he wants to make sure he won’t be a target. Oh mama, he’s given me the keys to the kingdom…”
“Wonderful,” Buffy said, pushing back her chair as she stood. “Co-ordinate with Ternisha and Eve so you know what you’ll be tackling. Ternisha - have you got this?”
The young Slayer smiled, her eyes glinting with excitement as she brushed her dreadlocks out of the way.
“Bring it on.”
Ternisha often reminded Buffy too much of Faith, but at times like this it was welcome. Only seventeen, but she’d racked up a bigger kill list than most of the others already - if she couldn’t get the job done, no one could.
Buffy left the meeting to find that the building was under attack from a large group of Grimslaw demons (human-sized, six-legged green bugs that could suck people’s hearts out) sent by a Wolfram and Hart client who didn’t like the Slayers telling him that he was no longer allowed to use human sacrifices.
(After that they had to triple the cleaners’ salary as the mess after the battle was indescribable, especially as the Grimslaws could climb walls and create webs, thus leaving their marks literally everywhere.)
And even before the last bug had been killed they had to attempt to work out why their protection spells had failed, uncovering a whole array of very subtle magical attacks, so low-key that they hadn’t noticed them, causing Andrew to back up everything ten times in a row.
At the same time the local MP appeared, turning very pale at the sight of the Grimslaw carcasses that littered the lobby and stairs, but still nastily pleased to let them know that he would do his utmost to get them evicted for noise and disruption and general mayhem, leading to Giles - usually the best person for dealing with that kind of issue - having to be held back from punching the guy, fuming something about ‘Bloody Tories, bet you were deep in Wolfram and Hart’s pockets!’, after which Buffy had to insist Giles get some sleep, almost frog-marching him to his office.
“Miss Summers!” a little admin person called out, as she returned from Giles’ office. “So sorry to bother you, but it - well, it looks like we have blood coming out of the taps… And I don’t know how long anyone will be able to carry on if we can’t make tea.”
She ended up sending someone to Starbucks for a huge order of teas and coffees whilst they worked out what had happened to their water supply, and (when trying to enjoy her Starbucks in an attempt at two minutes’ peace) had a witch teleport in from Iceland with tales of the ‘Little People’ (who lived in inhabited rocks apparently) being very restless due to how unsettled the world had become, and the local wiccas were worried what might happen if calm wasn’t restored soon. ‘Little People’ could cause big disturbances.
And throughout everything, Wolfram and Hart employees were turning up on their doorstep trying to peddle their insider knowledge and none of them could be sent away in case they’d retaliate. A handful actually turned out to have valuable information - including a janitor, who was hired on the spot when they discovered he knew a way to get stains out of anything.
She seemed to live 20 hour days, with a few hours’ sleep snatched whenever there was a catastrophe that didn’t actually have her name on it.
As for Spike, then he wasn’t an immediate priority in any way, so when she had a moment to be able to worry she told herself that London was his home, so he’d be fine, right? Maybe he’d just gone to hide somewhere, in order to heal? Or maybe he didn’t want to get under her feet, knowing how busy she was? And at least he had survived, unlike Angel (not now, don’t grieve now). Maybe- oh god, why was there a dragon outside?
Although there were glimpses of light.
Xander arrived, looking tanned and impossibly relaxed, and Buffy fell into his arms with more relief than she could articulate.
Dawn turned up, her summer holiday interrupted, and was the first person who could get along with Eve, to Buffy’s immense relief.
And then Andrew’s boyfriend appeared, frantic with worry as Andrew hadn’t answered his phone for three days, and then proceeded to scream at them because Andrew had used magic to keep himself awake for seventy two hours straight and none of them had noticed.
The situation was not made any better by half the people in the room clamouring to know which spell he’d used.
***
After six days Spike returned late one night, still drunk from what had clearly been a days’ long bender, and - apart from a black T-shirt and jeans - was also (somewhat incongruously) wearing a long black hooded cape with a red silk lining.
Giles had to admit he hadn’t particularly paid attention to Spike’s absence, but despatched a junior Slayer to fetch Buffy, hoping she could wrap up whatever she was doing and come to take charge of her ‘champion’.
Running down the stairs moments later, Xander following, Buffy looked somewhere between relieved and furious.
“Spike! Where have you been?”
“Mish me?” he asked, a sarcastic smirk on his face, and Giles saw her take a deep breath, and then another one.
“Yes. Yes I missed you. What’ve you been doing? Just getting blind drunk?”
“M not blind,” he retorted, swaying a little on his feet as Giles realised the vampire was a great deal more inebriated than he’d realised. “You jus’ a lil blurry…”
Buffy caught him as he fell, and got Xander to help her carry him over to a bench in a dark corner. At this point there were people sleeping in every nook and cranny, Giles was surprised that there was a bench free.
Buffy - exhausted, but a trooper as always - said she’d have to get back to Ternisha, but would Xander get them some coffee?
As Giles tried to remember what he himself had been doing when Spike had interrupted him, a creature that looked like the actual devil stepped through the doors - red skin, horns, tail, the lot. Except it was also wearing a very fetching suit.
“Good evening,” Giles said cautiously, as he sensed Xander stop and turn. “I’m Rupert Giles, Head Watcher. How can I help?”
The demon inclined its head.
“I’m Hazrufel. My cousin was a member of the Circle of the Black Thorn, and was murdered a few years ago.”
“And you want us to… investigate?” Giles said, wondering if this would be a lawsuit about damages. Angel’s team had taken down the Circle, but that didn’t mean people wouldn’t want reparations. To his relief, Hazrufel shook his head.
“Well, looking at how the chips are falling, I think I have some… information which you would find very advantageous.”
Before Giles could even think to turn Eve was at his side, face coolly appraising. He found himself wondering what kind of senses she possessed, she always appeared at the right time.
“I had dealings with Izzerial, your cousin, in LA. Follow me.”
And with that she swept him up and ushered him into her office. Calm, professional, immaculately dressed - a stark contrast to the rest of team, who were more or less conscious, but looked as rumpled and exhausted as could be expected after almost a week of working non-stop.
“G-man, can I ask a question?” Xander asked, scratching the back of his head. “No one will tell me who this woman is. Or what she is doing here. And why do I have a feeling that she could take that guy to pieces without breaking a sweat?”
Giles glanced at him, then sighed.
“She was Angel’s contact to the Senior Partners when he was at Wolfram and Hart. Don’t know much else, except that she fell out with them. We… granted her asylum in return for her knowledge.”
“Huh,” Xander replied, conveying a world of scepticism with his one eye. “How’s that working out? She double-crossed you yet?”
“She won’t,” Giles said.
“And you know this… how?”
Giles smiled sadly, and repeated the words Lorne had told him a year and a half ago.
“Because she has nothing left to lose, and nowhere else to go.”
Making his way back to the little old lady waiting in his office (it was something about her cats suddenly levitating, and when they checked up on her they discovered that Wolfram and Hart had owned the plot her house was built on), he thought with regret of Lorne’s decision to leave. It had all been going very well, Lorne had been quite enthusiastic about helping the Slayers, but one look at Eve and the green demon had excused himself, insisting that he was going back to LA. Giles had coaxed the full story out of him with the help of his best whiskey - and a few confessions of his own. But he understood the weight of guilt and had wished Lorne the best. And his final words had stuck in Giles’ head.
‘Wolfram and Hart got us all, one way or another. I need to go learn to live with my sins.’
He had a feeling that this was what Eve was doing also.
Catching a glimpse of the red lining of the ridiculous cape, he added Spike to the list.
***
The next morning Buffy brought Spike a cup of black coffee and waited for him to regain consciousness.
Daybreak was dull, overcast and muggy and what one of the older cleaning ladies called ‘close’, which Buffy found an oddly accurate description. She could feel a headache beginning to assert itself (at some point she’d catch up on all the sleep she’d missed, although it might be next century) and she more than suspected that it was all building up to a massive thunderstorm. She wondered if this would be good or bad for them. Would the demons go away or be spurred on?
She had been up since 3 am when there had been a disturbance that had needed dealing with (it all blurred, but there had been a lot of teeth), but seeing how exhausted the younger Slayers had been she’d sent them back to bed as she’d been worried they would end up injured or worse.
“Good morning?”
He glared at her, but at least it was an actual look, and not that horrible, distant silence of the night he’d returned.
“Fucking awful morning, but that’s nothing new.”
“Spike…”
“Sorry, you must’ve been snowed under. Couldn’t help. Too hurt, too…” He paused. “I just needed to…”
His eyes grew distant.
“Spike?”
“Huh?”
Deep breath. Not that much better then. But at least he was attempting to talk.
“It’ll be like three minutes until the next disaster, can you just focus? Where did you go?”
He took a sip of his coffee, glancing at her over the rim.
(The cuts on his face were mostly healed by now, his eyes as blue as she had ever seen and his hair was all messed up, blond and fuzzy, and she wanted to run her hands through it, wanted to- oh god, she’d not had sex in almost two years, she felt almost hollow with sudden longing. He was back and he was here and he was okay, and as soon as the worst of the fallout was over with they could…)
“Um, Soho mostly, there’s a great demon pub-”
She blinked, forcing herself to remember her previous line of thought.
“No, not where you went now. You and - and Angel…”
(Every time she remembered there was a sudden painful stab inside. But she couldn’t fall apart, couldn’t run away, she was Big Grown-up Buffy these days. She just bankrolled the losses and carried on… How could she be so simultaneously happy and grieving?)
Spike frowned, drank more of the coffee.
“Told Giles everything I remember already.”
“No but - before that. You were gone for eighteen months…”
Slowly he lowered the cup, searching her face.
“We were gone for a day. Like, twenty four hours tops. It’s been eighteen months?”
She nodded, pressing her lips together to stop letting her emotions take over. Not yet. Once this endless carousel of nightmare scenarios was over, then she’d grieve. (And have really spectacular sex. How was it all so mixed up?) But not yet.
“Spike I… am way too tired right now, just promise me you won’t disappear again, OK?”
As she spoke, she realised that he was looking past her, eyes widening and a smile slowly spreading across his face.
“Connor!”
A second later he was running across the lobby, before enthusiastically embracing the somewhat bewildered young man who had quietly come through the front door. He had a large carryall over one shoulder, and generally looked so normal that he almost seemed out of place.
“Didn’t know you were comin’,” Spike exclaimed, as Buffy made her way to them, and Connor shrugged.
“I tried to call, but it’s a bit hard getting through… And I figured you could do with help? If you’ll have me?”
A beat, then he dropped his head, not quite looking at them.
“Just figured, since my dad isn’t here…”
He was directing his questions more to Buffy than Spike, and she nodded.
“Of course. Can’t believe you came all this way, but another fighter is always welcome. We have been-”
There was a loud scream, and she tilted her head.
“I think that’s the exorcism of the Seers we found in Wolfram and Hart’s basement. Although it might be that evil centipede from another dimension which keeps clawing its way back through, no matter how often we banish it. Or maybe the sewer demon showed up again, one of the girls has a phobia…”
She was prattling on, but she couldn’t quite engage with what this all meant. How people - even Angel’s own son - just kept saying how he was gone… It didn’t fit, and she was too exhausted to grapple with it.
But Spike reached out, took hold of Connor’s shoulder. Friendly, familiar, supportive.
“He’d be proud of you kid. And he’d tell you so if he was here. Brag to all and sundry as a matter of fact.”
Connor smiled ruefully. (And the little sideways smile was so much like Angel’s that for a second Buffy couldn’t breathe.)
“If only he hadn’t signed that prophecy away…”
Spike snorted agreement, even as the words set off a chain-reaction in Buffy’s mind.
She had quite consciously shoved the loss of Angel out of her mind whenever it had cropped up. It was nothing like the grief of having to sacrifice him when she was seventeen, she wasn’t ‘in love’; but he was Angel. He should just be there, because that’s who he was.
And after Spike had returned without a heartbeat she had almost forgotten the weirdly named prophecy. Shan… Shan… Shanshu, that was it.
But what if Angel had fulfilled it by using the Dead Key…
“Wait-” she said, turning to Spike, eyes widening.
“Buffy, no, you don’t understand-” he called out, but she was already on her way to find Willow.
What if?
Chapter 29 on LJ
Chapter 29 on DW
Post has been cloned from dreamwidth. Comments welcome everywhere.
Can also be found on AO3.
So, this chapter somehow just... grew. Also I invented a new Slayer. :)
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Rating: Teen. (Same warnings as the show basically.)
Characters: Spike, Angel, Illyria, Buffy, Scoobies + cameos from more or less everyone in the 'verse.
Main Ships: Spike/Buffy, Angel/Nina
Feedback: Is bloody ambrosia! (The secret ingredient is otter...)
Word count (this chapter): Almost 7000 words
Setting and Summary: As before. (Post-NFA epic quest thing.)
Beta: The ever wonderful
kathyh
Chapter 28
London, Summer 2007
Twirling her stake lazily Buffy took in the six vampires surrounding her.
“Gee, you sure know how to make an American gal feel welcome.”
The graveyard was old and probably quite pretty in daylight… In the middle of the night, it was as comfortable a place as any Buffy could think of.
She should probably worry that hanging out with the dead was as close as she could get to feeling at home in London, but right now she was simply enjoying herself.
“Only the best for such a famous Slayer,” the leader drawled, in tones so like Spike’s she felt a familiar stab of longing. How much longer until they came back? It had been more than a year and a half… She felt the reassuring solid weight of the pendant on her chest, the token that said he had to come back.
Focus Buffy!
“Why thank you,” she replied. “And who might you be? Not that I really need to know your name in order to kill you, but my mother brought me up to be polite.”
“Don’t worry about my name pet - after tonight they’ll call me Slayer Killer!”
Bursting out laughing was probably not the wisest move she could have made, but the very idea that this little nobody could take her down was too funny.
Stepping forward, insulted, he tossed his hair back from his face, making the most of his six foot frame as he towered over her, his little gang drawing closer. His look was an unfortunate mishmash of styles - the hair could have belonged to Jon Bon Jovi and the leather jacket wasn’t bad, but in combination with the ripped blue jeans and the converse it made him look like a boy who’d dressed up in order to intimidate the other kids on the block.
“Right lads, let’s see if we can teach this little Californian Princess some proper manners…”
Biting back the laughter still bubbling inside her, she mirrored his hair toss, smiling sweetly.
“Look Rambo, if I started telling you all the reasons I’m going to win, you’d get roasted by the morning sun. Mostly though, I just can’t allow that outfit to stay a part of this world.”
She seemed to have hit a sore spot and he threw himself at her, literally growling, her fist stopping him very effectively mid-jump. But before she could make a start on the minions, her cell phone buzzed.
“Hang on,” she said, holding up the stake and pulling out the cell with her left hand.
And froze.
The message was only two words long, but it changed everything.
‘CODE RED’
It had happened. They had done it. Wolfram and Hart were toast, and her Champions were… back. Right?
Without thinking she pressed the button to call the Council, her surroundings forgotten; except a kick to her head sent the cell flying and the last thing she heard before hitting the ground was the sound of her phone smashing against a gravestone.
***
Giles was woken by his mobile phone buzzing very loudly next to his ear. He disliked the thing immensely, but was forced to admit it was useful.
At the end of another long day at the Council he’d decided to bed down on the divan in the tiny room adjacent to his office, rather than try to get home. Once he’d answered his phone (and the message had filtered through to his brain), he became very grateful for that decision.
It was the Elder Priestess of the Devon Coven, and she only spoke four words: “The canary is dead.”
It took a second for the impact to hit, then he sat bolt upright.
“You sure?”
“No Rupert, I am calling you at 2 in the morning because I had a vague hunch. Yes I’m sure. And so will you be once you check.”
He flinched at the sarcasm, even as he tried to locate his glasses.
“Sorry, I was asleep… I meant to say thank you. I take it you have already-”
“Yes, we’ve begun our battles. Good luck with yours.”
“Thank you,” he said, and she hung up. Never one for chit-chat.
He took a second to just close his eyes, readying himself for the impossible avalanche of unending calamities that would undoubtedly unfold as Wolfram and Hart fell from their pedestal; then took a deep breath, got dressed and set off downstairs, phone to his ear and shouting to Ternisha, the head guard. He had hand-picked her to lead the night patrols - she was young, and had been involved with a girl gang in her native Bethnal Green before being called, but she was smart, capable, an incredible fighter and knew London like the back of her hand.
His first call was Andrew, who could pull all the strings to raise the alarm. Thankfully Andrew lived only ten minutes away (a mutual decision, they had become increasingly dependent on him) and showed up in no time at all, becoming a one-person whirlwind of organisation.
(For which Giles was grateful, he was not as young as he had once been.)
Office after office began lighting up, Slayers and staff pouring in, as news began to filter through from their contacts.
Everything from small skirmishes to declarations of renewals of old feuds, and it was like being at war. Except with the whole world as the battlefield…
But why wasn’t Buffy answering her phone? She’d gone out ‘patrolling’ as far as he could remember, but he couldn’t imagine any reason she wouldn’t have brought her phone. It had been (he checked his watch) an hour already - even if she’d been fighting, surely she’d have gotten the message by now?
Then someone called his name, and he saw a Slayer patrol stumble stumble through the door, carrying something… Or rather someone.
Black clothing, blonde hair, bloodied face - for a split-second Giles thought it was Buffy, his heart almost stopping, but then his vision adjusted itself and he realised whom he was looking at.
“Bring him up to my office,” Giles said, guiding the Slayers who were carrying Spike’s inert form. “Where did you find him?”
“Out the back, Mr Giles,” Ternisha reported, “Can’t have been there long, we patrol the parameter regularly. Almost didn’t see him, being all in black and that.”
“Well, I am glad you did. A few more hours and he could have been immolated. Right, through here, put him down on the divan - thank you girls. Make sure to check extra hard in case we have any other fallen warriors appearing.”
Realising that this was their cue to leave the trio of Slayers reluctantly left (they were probably worried, Spike was obviously hurt), and Giles wondered what to do now. Buffy still hadn’t made contact, but if Spike was here, what of Angel and Illyria?
Fetching his secret bottle of single malt, he poured a generous measure and - after holding it under Spike’s nose did nothing - guided some down his throat.
As expected this produced a result.
Spike gasped, choked, and coughed - then scrambled to a sitting position, swearing in pain at some injury and staring about bewildered, before finally focussing on Giles.
“What the- Where the hell am I? What happened?”
“You are at the Watcher’s Council, London. One of our patrols found you outside a short while ago. And I was hoping that you might be able to tell us what happened…”
But Spike merely stared at him, then slowly shook his head.
“I don’t… Angel-”
He stopped, staring into the distance, and then the door burst open, a frazzled-looking Andrew practically falling into the tiny room.
“Giles! We need you now! There is a… very important demon chieftain in the lobby with fifty heavily armed Groxlar Beasts-”
He broke off, stared at Spike, then blinked and focussed on Giles again.
“Demanding Buffy…”
“Right.” Where was she? Not that it mattered right now, he would just have to improvise. “Spike… Will you be OK? Is there anything we need to know?”
Spike looked at him for a long moment, like he wasn’t quite sure what words even were.
“The scream…”
Giles took a second, let Spike’s few words join up.
Holding up a hand to stall Andrew’s impatience he crouched down in front of Spike, caught his eyes.
“Did Angel sacrifice himself?”
“Should have been me…” Spike whispered, and Giles would be damned if Spike’s eyes didn’t seem to glisten with tears. “He just- I can still hear him…”
“And Illyria?”
Spike half-turned, as if expecting her to be next to him.
“I dunno. She-”
It was clear that Spike was in shock, and, deciding to deal with the immediate crisis first, Giles stood and gently patted Spike’s shoulder.
“No worries. Just take a moment, I’ll be back soon. Try to remember as much as possible.”
Striding out he quizzed Andrew on the chieftain’s objectives, of which apparently there were none, except for the demand to speak with Buffy.
And it had only been an hour…
Andrew had only omitted one detail, which was that the chieftain was female - and somewhat improbably named Maureen (a name Giles had never previously associated with seven foot tall warriors with purple scales), hailing from a strong matriarchy, and thus plain refusing to speak to any males. Or any lower-ranking females. She saw Buffy’s absence as proof that the head Slayer was afraid to face her, and this was as good as a declaration of war. Which wasn’t just bad because of the immediate bloodbath and disruption, but also because she represented one of Wolfram and Hart’s oldest clients, and if they got on her wrong side she’d take a whole swathe of their clients with her. As a matter of fact she was one of their top priorities, but they had so far never been able to make contact, so had very little information.
Just as Giles was about to get one of the younger Slayers to pretend to be Buffy (he had called Faith, who was in America, and who had merely sworn at him in very colourful language and hung up), the front door inched open, and Willow sidled through, apologetic smile on her face.
“Sorry guys, I got a little delayed, there was a… thing. Like, a big green thing, with tentacles, it was eating people, I thought I should probably try to stop it… Turns out there was a Wolfram and Hart prison thing just down the road from me, and Talnor was hungry, so…”
Looking around at the fifty Groxlars surrounding her, her voice trailed off. Talnor, clutched in her right hand against her chest, growled quietly.
“Enough of the prattle! Attack!”
Maureen’s voice rang out coldly and sharply against the marble floors and wood-panelled walls, but even as all the Slayers who had quietly gathered drew their weapons, Willow’s left hand flung up, her eyes went completely black and Talnor’s growl was suddenly a roar.
A second later every Groxlar Beast turned on Maureen.
“Don’t kill her!” Giles cried, and Willow turned her head a fraction, studying him with those dark, unreadable eyes.
“Why?”
Who was she really, he wondered. She was her old self most of the time, but then there would be glimpses (or, like now, full-blown incidents) where it seemed as if the human face was nothing but a mask.
“I will negotiate with this woman.” Maureen stated, before turning to Willow, ignoring the hordes surrounding her. “What is your name?”
“I am Talnor, the Beast Master,” Willow replied, then blinked, eyes returning to normal.
“Andrew - bring me the relevant dossier. Giles, where do you want these stashing?”
“Um, holding cell 5 in the cellar should be able to hold them all,” Giles replied, and Willow nodded:
“Go.”
And as one the whole pack turned and in perfect unison walked towards the cellar doors.
“Ternisha, lock them in,” Giles said quietly, noticing the Slayer by his side, but it was Willow who replied. Her eyes might have returned to normal, but her voice was still coolly controlled and almost monotone.
“No need for locks, they won’t even blink without my say-so. I’ll take our guest into the second conference room.”
And with that she smiled at Maureen, holding out her left hand towards the stairs, her voice returning to normal in the process.
“Sorry about all that. Purple scales, how unusual…”
***
Slightly less than an hour later Buffy walked through the front doors to the Watcher’s Council.
“Buffy! You’re OK!” Ternisha exclaimed, literally skidding to a halt and almost dropping the tray with tea and biscuits she was carrying.
“Why wouldn’t I be OK?” Buffy replied, possibly a tad aggressively, but she wasn’t in a good mood, having spent the best part of the preceding two hours cursing the vampires who had broken her cell, the cell itself for being so flimsy, and most of all London for being enormous and herself for going so far away for a few stray vamps. The actual dusting had only taken seconds (once she’d gotten back on her feet), but the journey back had been endless.
Moving to London for good more than a year previously meant that at least she had an idea where she was going, but she missed Sunnydale more than she could explain. She’d been able to run everywhere… And sure, the motorbike was cool, but London was so huge that even when hovering at the speed limit everywhere took forever.
The journey back had also been interrupted by random fights that she felt she had to stop. She couldn’t know if they were just the regular bust-ups or some Wolfram and Hart related incident…
Looking around at the fantastical hive of activity now surrounding her, it seemed unreal that she had helped create this, that she knew what they were all doing. What the blue demon with the wings had been brought in to help with, and which areas the three junior Watchers she spotted in the office opposite would be investigating and…
Hang on.
“Wait, why do you have tea and biscuits?”
Of all the ridiculous things…
Ternisha pulled a face.
“Willow is in a super important meeting with a big purple demon lady, and they demanded tea. And apparently that is more important than patrolling.”
Buffy opened her mouth, faltered, then - as Ternisha made to leave - took hold of her arm.
“Are they back?”
The other Slayer hesitated, then nodded her head towards the biggest meeting room to her left.
“Spike’s in there.”
“Thank you,” Buffy said, unable to express the depth of her gratitude for this simple but impossibly important information.
He had made it. He was alive.
The meeting room had banks of computers running down both sides, all of them already occupied by their best tech people and watched over by Andrew who was here there and everywhere, having not just become an expert on Illyria’s network, but even going so far as getting a few mystical tattoos in order to move up the ranks.
But she barely noticed them, because in the middle, at the other end of the large central table already full of maps, books and papers stood Giles, Eve - and Spike.
She almost sagged in immediate relief at visual proof of Ternisha’s words, before stepping forward as she began taking in the state of him. She needed a moment. Eighteen months of waiting…
His hair was as short and bleached-white as it had been last time, except now it was dirty and unruly, dried blood running from his temple down his cheek. His hands were bloody and dirty too, his coat was torn at the shoulder - the top of his left sleeve covered by a rudimentary bandage - and when he moved he winced.
“What kind of symbols?” Eve asked, “can you describe them?” and he slowly shook his head.
“It’s… a blur. Suffered a good deal of blood loss before we got there, not exactly on top form pet. And that place, it… screwed with our heads. Everything was a bloody illusion…”
Eve pressed her lips together with that patented long-suffering look she always adopted when people were less prepared than she wished. Buffy would be forever grateful that they had managed to track her down and convince her to work for them, as her knowledge of Wolfram and Hart was second to none, but she was not the easiest person to work with.
“Spike!” she cried, knowing that he had to know she was there, and slowly he lifted his head to look at her, eyes dark and exhausted.
Making her way around the table, she tried to reach out, hand faltering mid-motion.
“What happened?”
“We did it,” he replied, voice hollow.
“I don’t understand,” she said, grasping his hand and laying a thumb across his wrist to confirm what her other senses had already told her. No pulse. Just cool vampire skin, covered in yet more dried blood. She looked around, tried to make sense of it all.
“Where’s Angel?”
He closed his eyes, almost swaying on his feet.
“Angel’s gone.”
For a second the world froze. Surely he couldn’t mean...
Glancing at the pile of books in front of him he quietly continued.
“Illyria too. It was…”
His voice trailed off, and, shooting Buffy a quick apologetic glance, Eve pushed yet another book under his nose.
“The symbols - did they look like this?”
He blinked, shook his head. His voice sounded so fatigued she ached, even as she still tried to come to terms with what he’d just told her. Angel couldn’t...
“No. No nothing like that. Why’s it important again? And… how are you… here?”
Eve sighed.
“Listen Champ I’m here to help - funnily enough there are not a lot of job opportunities for someone like me. But if we can unravel the underpinnings that you undid we will know what angle to tackle them from. Bit like knowing what alphabet an encrypted note is written in really helps?”
He shook his head.
“Sorry, it’s just a blank, all I remember is-”
He stopped, and Giles stepped around him and quietly pulled Buffy aside.
“One of the patrols found him outside in the alley about an hour ago. And I know he will need a break, but we need to know everything that happened, so we can adapt our plans. Understood? Buffy?”
“Yes, yes of course,” she replied, not really listening. What had he meant ‘Angel’s gone’? Her brain didn’t seem to be functioning.
“Buffy!” Giles said, and she tried to focus on him again.
“I asked where you have been - we tried to call you, but you never replied.”
“My cell broke,” she replied, a little too curtly probably, but dammit Spike was hurt and Angel ‘gone’…
“Buffy!”
Andrew this time.
“Look, I need you, just for a second, or maybe ten, or twenty, but we have a minor emergency which could any moment become major and-”
“Fine.”
She allowed herself to be led away, silently wondering why she had decided that being Top Slayer was a good idea and momentarily missing her Dolce Vita in Rome, before remembering The Immortal, Ilona Costa Bianchi, never getting the hang of Italian, and all the other reasons she’d left.
***
Several hours later, a bright morning sun shining through the windows, Giles called a big meeting, Andrew having linked up all the different factions around the world through video links, and Buffy (on autopilot, and keen to get it all over with) laid out the overall structure of their plans, which bits to change, which parts to focus on.
They were only interrupted twice - first by a swarm of locusts which Willow swiftly banished and secondly by a six-armed demon which kicked its way through the doors, yelling ‘Prepare to di-’ before seven different Slayers attacked it simultaneously and it ended up in many smaller pieces all over the floor.
To their relief their careful preparation was paying off.
They had been inundated with calls for protection, as well as clans and groups declaring war - and (surprisingly) many factions and clients saying they were happy to work with the Watcher’s Council. Andrew had created a massive interactive programme (his pride and joy), a project he had worked on for months, but which was now running smoothly and efficiently.
Giles had been sceptical, but he had to admit that it was actually working - they had instant information, only delayed by the fact of people having to input the updates; but overall they could tell at a glance who was with them, who against, who they hadn’t heard from yet.
Spike didn’t speak at all, silently leaning against the wall like a black-clad and bloodied ghost.
The meeting over Buffy got up, determined to get him alone so she could look after him, but realised he’d slipped away in the melee.
When she finally found him, he was simply sitting on the stairs, like a stone in a stream, people walking around him.
“Spike,” she said, and although he was looking at her, he didn’t seem to see her at all.
“I should call Connor. And Nina. And Lorne… Where did he get to again? He doesn’t seem to be around… ”
She realised that his leg was hurt also, his jeans torn and caked in dried blood.
“Spike!”
She took hold of his face, and he visibly flinched away from her. It was all she could do not to yell out of desperation.
“What happened? What did this to you? We need to get you bandaged up, I have some spare clothes-”
“Not important,” he cut her off, then stood. “I need to borrow a phone, I think mine was killed by the same beasts that did for my arm…”
And he walked past her down the stairs, as if she wasn’t even there.
Unsure how to react, she barely noticed Willow until her friend was standing immediately in front of her.
“Did you see that?” Buffy asked. “He’s behaving-“
“He’s behaving like - like he did after you died,” Willow said gently. “Give him time.”
But surely he would come to her for comfort? It made no sense. And she wasn’t going to let him just suffer. She couldn’t process the loss of Angel just yet, but Spike was here and she could help him, whether he wanted it or not. He certainly needed it. Stupid bloody vampires.
She waited until he’d finished his phone calls, then marched him along to the shower rooms, handing him a pile of clean clothes and towels before guarding the door until he had finished getting clean, fervently ignoring Giles calling for her, as well as the orange goo that was slowly dripping down from the ceiling above and the strange scuttling sound from down the hallway.
Once the shower had stopped she let herself in, locking the door behind her and then inhaling sharply as she took the extent of the damage. Without the armour (discarded in a pile along with the coat and the other clothing) it would have been infinitely worse, but his upper left arm had been nearly torn to shreds, his shoulder was so mangled she barely knew how to start, and his legs had lacerations to the bone.
“Oh god,” she whispered, before grimly getting to work bandaging him up as best she could. He seemed to disengage again, lost in himself, somewhere she couldn’t follow. Or maybe it was just the pain getting to him.
“Spike, if you need to talk, I’m here, OK?”
He nodded, but didn’t reply.
***
For the next few days ‘work’ took over wholesale, a never-ending avalanche of crises that required a multitude of different responses. They careened from near-disaster to full blown emergency about every half hour, and Buffy began to wish for a simple straight-forward apocalypse, not three million separate calamities.
Most newspapers had Wolfram and Hart’s collapse on their front pages, endless columns about the unexpected fall of the ancient law firm and how safe were other companies? The panic seeped through to the stock market and economic anxieties were added to every other problem.
Spike plain disappeared, and by the time Buffy realised she decided not to worry - especially as she had no way to track him down, or any time in which to do so, as the next minute they received reports of three warlocks appearing in the middle of Oxford Circus and the tourists thinking it was a promotion for a new show or movie, and they had to despatch Willow before the situation turned into a bloodbath.
Then they had to gather a team to tackle Wolfram and Hart’s London offices, or more precisely all the things therein which might now get out - according to Eve, Wolfram and Hart had been very good at keeping anything undesirable (I.e. Creatures or persons who would fight against them) locked up, but now… no one knew.
It had been one of the top priorities on their agenda, but they had been too snowed under to even think about it for the first day. And reports from other Slayer hubs elsewhere in the world made it a very unappealing prospect. Ternisha’s suggestion of just blowing it up made Eve shake her head.
“That would probably make all the schools explode too - or something similar. There are usually fail safes at all levels, and more magical protections than you can imagine. I have given you basic schematics, but I won’t know about any particulars.”
“I’m in!” Andrew announced triumphantly, cutting her off, and they all turned to him. Looking up from his laptop, he glanced around.
“One of their employees was a follower Illyria, and now they’ve gone under he wants to make sure he won’t be a target. Oh mama, he’s given me the keys to the kingdom…”
“Wonderful,” Buffy said, pushing back her chair as she stood. “Co-ordinate with Ternisha and Eve so you know what you’ll be tackling. Ternisha - have you got this?”
The young Slayer smiled, her eyes glinting with excitement as she brushed her dreadlocks out of the way.
“Bring it on.”
Ternisha often reminded Buffy too much of Faith, but at times like this it was welcome. Only seventeen, but she’d racked up a bigger kill list than most of the others already - if she couldn’t get the job done, no one could.
Buffy left the meeting to find that the building was under attack from a large group of Grimslaw demons (human-sized, six-legged green bugs that could suck people’s hearts out) sent by a Wolfram and Hart client who didn’t like the Slayers telling him that he was no longer allowed to use human sacrifices.
(After that they had to triple the cleaners’ salary as the mess after the battle was indescribable, especially as the Grimslaws could climb walls and create webs, thus leaving their marks literally everywhere.)
And even before the last bug had been killed they had to attempt to work out why their protection spells had failed, uncovering a whole array of very subtle magical attacks, so low-key that they hadn’t noticed them, causing Andrew to back up everything ten times in a row.
At the same time the local MP appeared, turning very pale at the sight of the Grimslaw carcasses that littered the lobby and stairs, but still nastily pleased to let them know that he would do his utmost to get them evicted for noise and disruption and general mayhem, leading to Giles - usually the best person for dealing with that kind of issue - having to be held back from punching the guy, fuming something about ‘Bloody Tories, bet you were deep in Wolfram and Hart’s pockets!’, after which Buffy had to insist Giles get some sleep, almost frog-marching him to his office.
“Miss Summers!” a little admin person called out, as she returned from Giles’ office. “So sorry to bother you, but it - well, it looks like we have blood coming out of the taps… And I don’t know how long anyone will be able to carry on if we can’t make tea.”
She ended up sending someone to Starbucks for a huge order of teas and coffees whilst they worked out what had happened to their water supply, and (when trying to enjoy her Starbucks in an attempt at two minutes’ peace) had a witch teleport in from Iceland with tales of the ‘Little People’ (who lived in inhabited rocks apparently) being very restless due to how unsettled the world had become, and the local wiccas were worried what might happen if calm wasn’t restored soon. ‘Little People’ could cause big disturbances.
And throughout everything, Wolfram and Hart employees were turning up on their doorstep trying to peddle their insider knowledge and none of them could be sent away in case they’d retaliate. A handful actually turned out to have valuable information - including a janitor, who was hired on the spot when they discovered he knew a way to get stains out of anything.
She seemed to live 20 hour days, with a few hours’ sleep snatched whenever there was a catastrophe that didn’t actually have her name on it.
As for Spike, then he wasn’t an immediate priority in any way, so when she had a moment to be able to worry she told herself that London was his home, so he’d be fine, right? Maybe he’d just gone to hide somewhere, in order to heal? Or maybe he didn’t want to get under her feet, knowing how busy she was? And at least he had survived, unlike Angel (not now, don’t grieve now). Maybe- oh god, why was there a dragon outside?
Although there were glimpses of light.
Xander arrived, looking tanned and impossibly relaxed, and Buffy fell into his arms with more relief than she could articulate.
Dawn turned up, her summer holiday interrupted, and was the first person who could get along with Eve, to Buffy’s immense relief.
And then Andrew’s boyfriend appeared, frantic with worry as Andrew hadn’t answered his phone for three days, and then proceeded to scream at them because Andrew had used magic to keep himself awake for seventy two hours straight and none of them had noticed.
The situation was not made any better by half the people in the room clamouring to know which spell he’d used.
***
After six days Spike returned late one night, still drunk from what had clearly been a days’ long bender, and - apart from a black T-shirt and jeans - was also (somewhat incongruously) wearing a long black hooded cape with a red silk lining.
Giles had to admit he hadn’t particularly paid attention to Spike’s absence, but despatched a junior Slayer to fetch Buffy, hoping she could wrap up whatever she was doing and come to take charge of her ‘champion’.
Running down the stairs moments later, Xander following, Buffy looked somewhere between relieved and furious.
“Spike! Where have you been?”
“Mish me?” he asked, a sarcastic smirk on his face, and Giles saw her take a deep breath, and then another one.
“Yes. Yes I missed you. What’ve you been doing? Just getting blind drunk?”
“M not blind,” he retorted, swaying a little on his feet as Giles realised the vampire was a great deal more inebriated than he’d realised. “You jus’ a lil blurry…”
Buffy caught him as he fell, and got Xander to help her carry him over to a bench in a dark corner. At this point there were people sleeping in every nook and cranny, Giles was surprised that there was a bench free.
Buffy - exhausted, but a trooper as always - said she’d have to get back to Ternisha, but would Xander get them some coffee?
As Giles tried to remember what he himself had been doing when Spike had interrupted him, a creature that looked like the actual devil stepped through the doors - red skin, horns, tail, the lot. Except it was also wearing a very fetching suit.
“Good evening,” Giles said cautiously, as he sensed Xander stop and turn. “I’m Rupert Giles, Head Watcher. How can I help?”
The demon inclined its head.
“I’m Hazrufel. My cousin was a member of the Circle of the Black Thorn, and was murdered a few years ago.”
“And you want us to… investigate?” Giles said, wondering if this would be a lawsuit about damages. Angel’s team had taken down the Circle, but that didn’t mean people wouldn’t want reparations. To his relief, Hazrufel shook his head.
“Well, looking at how the chips are falling, I think I have some… information which you would find very advantageous.”
Before Giles could even think to turn Eve was at his side, face coolly appraising. He found himself wondering what kind of senses she possessed, she always appeared at the right time.
“I had dealings with Izzerial, your cousin, in LA. Follow me.”
And with that she swept him up and ushered him into her office. Calm, professional, immaculately dressed - a stark contrast to the rest of team, who were more or less conscious, but looked as rumpled and exhausted as could be expected after almost a week of working non-stop.
“G-man, can I ask a question?” Xander asked, scratching the back of his head. “No one will tell me who this woman is. Or what she is doing here. And why do I have a feeling that she could take that guy to pieces without breaking a sweat?”
Giles glanced at him, then sighed.
“She was Angel’s contact to the Senior Partners when he was at Wolfram and Hart. Don’t know much else, except that she fell out with them. We… granted her asylum in return for her knowledge.”
“Huh,” Xander replied, conveying a world of scepticism with his one eye. “How’s that working out? She double-crossed you yet?”
“She won’t,” Giles said.
“And you know this… how?”
Giles smiled sadly, and repeated the words Lorne had told him a year and a half ago.
“Because she has nothing left to lose, and nowhere else to go.”
Making his way back to the little old lady waiting in his office (it was something about her cats suddenly levitating, and when they checked up on her they discovered that Wolfram and Hart had owned the plot her house was built on), he thought with regret of Lorne’s decision to leave. It had all been going very well, Lorne had been quite enthusiastic about helping the Slayers, but one look at Eve and the green demon had excused himself, insisting that he was going back to LA. Giles had coaxed the full story out of him with the help of his best whiskey - and a few confessions of his own. But he understood the weight of guilt and had wished Lorne the best. And his final words had stuck in Giles’ head.
‘Wolfram and Hart got us all, one way or another. I need to go learn to live with my sins.’
He had a feeling that this was what Eve was doing also.
Catching a glimpse of the red lining of the ridiculous cape, he added Spike to the list.
***
The next morning Buffy brought Spike a cup of black coffee and waited for him to regain consciousness.
Daybreak was dull, overcast and muggy and what one of the older cleaning ladies called ‘close’, which Buffy found an oddly accurate description. She could feel a headache beginning to assert itself (at some point she’d catch up on all the sleep she’d missed, although it might be next century) and she more than suspected that it was all building up to a massive thunderstorm. She wondered if this would be good or bad for them. Would the demons go away or be spurred on?
She had been up since 3 am when there had been a disturbance that had needed dealing with (it all blurred, but there had been a lot of teeth), but seeing how exhausted the younger Slayers had been she’d sent them back to bed as she’d been worried they would end up injured or worse.
“Good morning?”
He glared at her, but at least it was an actual look, and not that horrible, distant silence of the night he’d returned.
“Fucking awful morning, but that’s nothing new.”
“Spike…”
“Sorry, you must’ve been snowed under. Couldn’t help. Too hurt, too…” He paused. “I just needed to…”
His eyes grew distant.
“Spike?”
“Huh?”
Deep breath. Not that much better then. But at least he was attempting to talk.
“It’ll be like three minutes until the next disaster, can you just focus? Where did you go?”
He took a sip of his coffee, glancing at her over the rim.
(The cuts on his face were mostly healed by now, his eyes as blue as she had ever seen and his hair was all messed up, blond and fuzzy, and she wanted to run her hands through it, wanted to- oh god, she’d not had sex in almost two years, she felt almost hollow with sudden longing. He was back and he was here and he was okay, and as soon as the worst of the fallout was over with they could…)
“Um, Soho mostly, there’s a great demon pub-”
She blinked, forcing herself to remember her previous line of thought.
“No, not where you went now. You and - and Angel…”
(Every time she remembered there was a sudden painful stab inside. But she couldn’t fall apart, couldn’t run away, she was Big Grown-up Buffy these days. She just bankrolled the losses and carried on… How could she be so simultaneously happy and grieving?)
Spike frowned, drank more of the coffee.
“Told Giles everything I remember already.”
“No but - before that. You were gone for eighteen months…”
Slowly he lowered the cup, searching her face.
“We were gone for a day. Like, twenty four hours tops. It’s been eighteen months?”
She nodded, pressing her lips together to stop letting her emotions take over. Not yet. Once this endless carousel of nightmare scenarios was over, then she’d grieve. (And have really spectacular sex. How was it all so mixed up?) But not yet.
“Spike I… am way too tired right now, just promise me you won’t disappear again, OK?”
As she spoke, she realised that he was looking past her, eyes widening and a smile slowly spreading across his face.
“Connor!”
A second later he was running across the lobby, before enthusiastically embracing the somewhat bewildered young man who had quietly come through the front door. He had a large carryall over one shoulder, and generally looked so normal that he almost seemed out of place.
“Didn’t know you were comin’,” Spike exclaimed, as Buffy made her way to them, and Connor shrugged.
“I tried to call, but it’s a bit hard getting through… And I figured you could do with help? If you’ll have me?”
A beat, then he dropped his head, not quite looking at them.
“Just figured, since my dad isn’t here…”
He was directing his questions more to Buffy than Spike, and she nodded.
“Of course. Can’t believe you came all this way, but another fighter is always welcome. We have been-”
There was a loud scream, and she tilted her head.
“I think that’s the exorcism of the Seers we found in Wolfram and Hart’s basement. Although it might be that evil centipede from another dimension which keeps clawing its way back through, no matter how often we banish it. Or maybe the sewer demon showed up again, one of the girls has a phobia…”
She was prattling on, but she couldn’t quite engage with what this all meant. How people - even Angel’s own son - just kept saying how he was gone… It didn’t fit, and she was too exhausted to grapple with it.
But Spike reached out, took hold of Connor’s shoulder. Friendly, familiar, supportive.
“He’d be proud of you kid. And he’d tell you so if he was here. Brag to all and sundry as a matter of fact.”
Connor smiled ruefully. (And the little sideways smile was so much like Angel’s that for a second Buffy couldn’t breathe.)
“If only he hadn’t signed that prophecy away…”
Spike snorted agreement, even as the words set off a chain-reaction in Buffy’s mind.
She had quite consciously shoved the loss of Angel out of her mind whenever it had cropped up. It was nothing like the grief of having to sacrifice him when she was seventeen, she wasn’t ‘in love’; but he was Angel. He should just be there, because that’s who he was.
And after Spike had returned without a heartbeat she had almost forgotten the weirdly named prophecy. Shan… Shan… Shanshu, that was it.
But what if Angel had fulfilled it by using the Dead Key…
“Wait-” she said, turning to Spike, eyes widening.
“Buffy, no, you don’t understand-” he called out, but she was already on her way to find Willow.
What if?
Chapter 29 on LJ
Chapter 29 on DW
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