[FIC] Three Brass Monkeys (sequel to Midas) S/A - R - 4/6
Part Four... As always dedicated to Myst. Previous parts here. This the sequel to my story Midas which can be found here.
TITLE: Three Brass Monkeys
AUTHOR: Jennie
EMAIL: Jenexell_fic@yahoo.co.uk
DISCLAIMER: All stuff BtVS and A:ts belong to joss and co. I’m not making any money from this so don’t bother suing me.
RATING: R for graphically disturbing imagery.
SPOILERS: general up to the end of both series.
DISTRIBUTION: My Sitewww.livingindreams.co.uk/whisper You want it? Take it! Just tell me where!
STORY NOTE: Sequel to Midas and the second part of the No Evil series, which can be found here.
SUMMARY: Post NFA - Hear No Evil, Speak No Evil... See No evil?
FEEDBACK: PLEASE.
AN: As anyone who knows me will testify, I get really miffed when people paint England as a place where it always rains. It doesn’t always rain here, we have spectacular summers. But since we’re actually in the middle of a drought it’s raining for this part. It’s my not so subtle hint to the weather man to stop pissing about. *stares angrily out at dying garden*
Part 4
May 2005 - London
The constant swish-swish of the windshield wipers, the diagonal streaks of water on the windows, the hiss of displaced moisture as cars passed them in the outside lane accompanied by the mumbled curses of their driver. Spike couldn’t help but agree with his sentiment, not even he would be fool enough to drive at that speed in this weather; you couldn’t see more than 10 feet in front of you it was coming down so heavy.
The rain was almost comforting; the soft scent of it warm on spring grass. It was so familiar, like a flash back his human youth. As a Vampire he hadn’t really cared to savour it, but as young man he’d loved it, heading out onto Hampstead heath the day after a storm to sit in the shelter of a tree and watch the herons on the ponds. Maybe he’d take Angel one day; they could watch the bats heading for the roof of Queen Mary’s hospital. Was Queen Mary’s still there? Probably flats now or a business centre; Oh well, he was sure the bats would still be there, stubborn little flying rodents that they were.
Absently he stroked his hand down Angel’s side, a gentle ghost of a caress; he knew from experience just how fragile Angel’s bones were now; He’d cracked a rib just changing his dressings the other week. That had been the hardest part of the journey, moving Angel so they didn’t hurt him. They hadn’t bothered to dress him more than in the sweatpants he’d already been wearing and then just wrapped him up in blankets. He was laid across the back seats of the MPV the council had sent to pick Willow up in, his head resting in Spike’s lap. They’d repeated this position many times during the journey; in the car from the cabin to the airfield, and in the jet. Willow had been concerned that Angel wasn’t strapped in, but Spike couldn’t give a stuff about aviation and road safety right now. He’d not so patiently explained that there was no way they’d survive a plane crash anyway, and he, Spike, wasn’t likely to be badly effected by a car accident, but the seat belt would crush Angel’s fragile bones.
Glancing out of the window he frowned as they reached a junction. Surely they were in the wrong lane; they should be turning right at Hanger Lane, not left.
“Willow?” Spike asked.
Willow groggily lifted her head from where it had been resting on her seat belt. She was glad of the car they’d chosen to send for her; it was one of those large MPV’s where the middle seats could be turned to face the rear, that meant Spike and Angel could take the more comfortable rear seats, that were more a couch than anything else, and she could face them. She’d hoped to talk to Spike, but he’d been too tense on the flight to hold a decent conversation and now, nearly 12 hours since they’d started their journey and more than 36 since she’d started hers, she found herself too tired to remember the questions she wanted to ask.
“Hmmm?”
“Shouldn’t we be headed west?” Spike asked still frowning as the lights changed and the car pulled smoothly out into the junction.
Willow looked out of the window and seeing where they were, offered Spike a reassuring smile. “The council offices in town were blown up Spike, Remember? We’re based at the Sanctum in Mill Hill.”
Spike frowned and tried to remember The Sanctum. He was pretty sure Angelus had taken him to see it once; it was where the big library, school, retirement home and hospital were from what he remembered. Angelus hadn’t held the place in high regard; kids, the old, the sick and the bookish; no one of import ever stayed long at The Sanctum. But he did remember it was huge, set in acres and acres of grounds, an old Tudor Manor house, or maybe even a Palace.
Shrugging he returned to watching the passing scenery or what of it he could see through the downpour. With every smooth bend in the road Spike felt tension coil deeper in his gut. He’d been trying to block the thoughts out since he’d lifted Angel into his arms and carried him to the Plymouth, but now as they slid through the London rain he couldn’t chase them away. No-one except Dawn knew they were coming, but Willow had said they would all be there. Buffy, Xander, Giles, Faith, Andrew, Robin and the slayers. So many slayers, many like Kennedy no doubt; hot headed and monochrome sighted.
It had been a while since he felt himself torn in the three ways of himself; fledgling, master and man. But now he could almost hear their individual voices, taste their emotions. The fledge was scared, terrified at the prospect of walking into the Lion’s den, and wanted its sire to reassure him. The master in him was pacing and snarling, itching for a fight and just daring someone to threaten what was his. And the man? The man was nervous, confused, excited and relieved all at once. His mind roved as they travelled, his fingers absently soothing his sire while he was somewhere else; somewhere in his mind. The only place over the last year he had found he could go. Once it had been an escape, now... just another place full of sadness and suspicion.
They were headed for a place that might hold some hope for them; but that hope was bittersweet. They were headed right into a viper’s nest, full of people he had once tried to call friends, however absurd that seemed now. They were never his friends. Sure, he could name times and places where they had smiled and even had some connection, but they were hollow memories compared to the truth behind those lies. He was a weapon, a resource, nothing more than a book or sword to them. They'd polish him up if need be but tossed him aside as soon as blood marred his face. It was a cold feeling, a feeling of desperation and loss; made all the more sharp and biting for that damnable promise of hope.
“Spike?”
Spike blearily looked up at the sound of someone calling his name and realised for the first time that they’d stopped moving.
Offering Spike a reassuring smile, Willow laid her hand on the door handle. “We’re here. You ready?”
Spike paused; was he ready? Would he ever be? He eyes flicked down to Angel and he steeled himself. He would have to be. Clenching his jaw, he carefully pulled Angel into his arms and rose to his feet, bent double over Angel’s lax form so as not to hit his head on the ceiling.
Willow was already out of the car as he stepped down, holding an umbrella to protect them from the worst of the wet. Holding Angel closer to his chest, only the top of his bald head against his shoulder and his bare feet visible outside the swathes of blankets, Spike straightened and began to walk up the steps towards the ominously large stone doorway. A faint prickling he realised he’d felt for the last few minutes turned into an irritating itch all-over his body, and he felt Angel shift in his arms. He glanced at Willow and she looked back confused for a second as to why Spike had paused then her eyes widened and she muttered something under her breath, reaching out with her free hand. The itching stopped and Spike gritted his teeth. Wards; yet another sign of how unexpected and unwanted they were.
The door creaked open like something from a bad horror movie and as they reached the top step a figure dashed out to meet them. Instinctively Spike pulled Angel closer and snarled, making the figure skid to a halt a few paces before reaching them.
“Spike? Oh my god!”
“Dawny, not now!” Willow barked, moving into the shelter of the portico, Spike coming with her simply because it was that or get wet.
“But but..” Dawn stammered.
Willow didn’t pause just pushed passed her and into the building, Spike close behind leaving Dawn to hold the door. The entrance hall was vast, lined with marble and granite, a symbol of the decadence of a bygone age. Spike bristled on crossing the threshold, the presence of so many slayers attacking his senses instantly.
“Willow, I think perhaps you have some explaining to do.” The icy voice echoed around the cavernous space and Spike looked up. Giles was standing at the foot of the grand staircase, Xander, Buffy, Faith and Andrew flanking him.
Willow only hesitated for a second, flicking her gaze over the people standing on the stairs. Then the image of Angel lying in the bed at the cabin floated hauntingly through her mind and she set her resolve and kept moving.
Spike kept in step behind her, registering the pause but saying nothing, his arms closing around Angel more firmly. He was aware of the sound of Giles calling after Willow, of people following them as they headed through a doorway at the end of the hall and turned into a corridor. Dawn was yelling, squawking almost, trying to get them to stop but they were obviously ignoring her. He easily kept up as Willow’s pace quickened, and wondered not for the first time just how much truth there had been in the story Willow had told him. For people who needed him to identify and fight a demon, they were far from hospitable.
After a few twists and turns they reached a part of the building that had a distinctly surgical smell. Large double swing doors lay ahead and a man in a white coat stood holding them open as they paced closer. The man held the door only long enough to let Spike get through and then Willow barked at a woman standing behind a counter.
“No-one but Dawns comes in!”
When the nurse started to object the man who’d held the door shook his head and they were off again. Spike realised with a jolt they were in a hospital, they passed a couple of rows beds separated by curtains and then into another corridor. The place was a maze, sterile white and surgical green. Sometimes they passed other people, doctors in white coats, one in scrubs, nurses in uniform. A girl, a slayer with her arm in a sling and her foot raised as she sat in a wheelchair was being talked to by a youngish looking man in a smart charcoal grey suit.
Finally they seemed to reach their destination when Willow slowed and opened a door. Spike followed her in and came to a stop. There was a bed, a window that had been covered by a blanket tacked up around the frame, a large comfortable looking chair and a trolley with numerous medical looking things on it. But most of all it was white.
He didn’t know what he’d expected. Maybe some wood panelled room with thick drapes in some tucked away corner, or maybe a dank basement. But it wasn’t this clinical sterile hospital room. It was too white, and he wondered if he’d been a fool. Doctors, he didn’t trust doctors, hadn’t as a human, certainly didn’t now. He’d only been under the care of two sets since he’d been turned, the first lot had been the mad scientists of the initiative and the second were the ones who’d re-attached his hands in Wolfram and Hart. Mad or Evil.
His eyes flicked back to the trolley and his stomach rolled. Shiny metal and plastic, bags, tubes and vials. He had to get out of here, he’d promised, he’d promised damn it, and so had Willow. Suddenly there was a hand on his arm, and he spun, snarling to face his attacker.
“Spike.. whoa goddess… easy. Its ok… just me ok…” Willow tried to reassure him. “Why don’t we get Angel comfortable yeah?”
Spike’s eyes flicked to the man in the doorway and Willow followed his gaze, beckoning the man over when she realised what he was looking at. “Spike this is Dr Mark Goodiard. He’s a friend of mine, and he’s promised to help.”
“Yeah, A doctor for the watcher’s council, I’m sure he’d love to find out what’s wrong with Angel… damn it, this was a mistake” Spike remarked bitterly and then looked around for an exit.
“Spike do you trust me?” Willow asked, making Spike meet her gaze. When Spike’s jaw tensed she tried another tack. “OK… well think about this. Would I leave my friends in the middle of a fight, to travel all the way to Los Angeles which was in the middle of its own apocalypse, face Angelus and re-soul him just to put Angel in danger now?” Spike still looked dubious but willow persisted. “They had him caged you know, were this close to just staking him, they thought Angel was lost for good. If I didn’t care about Angel, just wanted Angelus out of the way I could have just let them, but I didn’t. I didn’t give up on him then and I’m not going to now. He’s safe here, I won’t let anyone hurt him, see this?” pointing to her face she put on her resolve face and Spike felt the corners of his lips twitch. “What does this mean spike, come on you know.”
Spike felt himself relaxing despite his reservations. Did he trust Willow? Yes, out of the lot of them Willow was probably the only one he could trust. He was still unsure of the doctor but with a nod and a deep breath, Spike moved to the bed and lay Angel down. With Willow’s help they managed to pull away all the blankets that they’d wrapped Angel in and settle him under the sheets without jostling him to much. A couple of time as they worked the ailing Vampire coughed or groaned, making them both freeze, but he never stirred.
It was only as Spike dropped into the chair and took hold of Angel’s hand that he realised that Angel had been breathing for nearly 24 hours.
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It was a hand on his shoulder that woke Spike hours later. Groggily he turned his head from where it was pillowed on his arms on Angel’s bed and looked up into a pair of concerned green eyes. Disorientated, he tried to work out when he’d fallen asleep, but the last thing he remembered was Willow yelling at the voices out in the hall and… his mind shuttered and he cast a slightly fearful glance up at Angel hoping what he remembered had been a nightmare.
Despite his best efforts he found his eyes filling with tears. No nightmare it seemed. “I’m sorry” he whispered forgetting for a moment that they were not alone. Angel looked so much paler, so much sicker laid against the crisp white hospital sheets. His head had lolled slightly towards him and the black lines which marked the progress of the rot through his veins showed up stark and angry. But the worst part was the tube.
After they’d settled Angel and Willow had furiously told whoever had been belly-aching in the corridor to take a flying leap there had been questions. Oh bloody hell had there been questions. He’d felt like he was under a microscope, everything he’d done for Angel dissected and judged, every part of his illness ummed and ahhed over.
It had taken a good few hours to go through every detail; the progress of the rot, the symptoms, any existing routines. By the time they’d covered the entirety of Spike’s universe for the last year he’d never felt more inadequate. Willow had tried to reassure him that he’d done the best he could in the circumstances but it didn’t help. Inside he still felt that he’d failed the man he loved and it was agony. He’d only been able to stare blankly with tear blurred eyes as Willow and Mark had started to throw ideas and suggestions around.
After a little discussion Dr Goodiard had suggest they set up an IV to get some nourishment into Angel, but when they’d tried to insert the needle Angel’s veins would collapse within seconds, the black fluid of the rot spilling out to stain the pristine white. Seeing it had snapped Spike back into reality and he’d fallen into old patterns of care which had become ingrained. Willow and the doctor had only been able to watch and wait each time Angel bled as Spike cleaned and bandaged the wounds with a clinical efficiency worthy of any professional.
By the fourth attempt Willow decided enough was enough. It was true that they could probably find a vein somewhere which was strong enough, but they couldn’t find a Spike that was. Each time he’d taken over she’d seen how much it strained him to see anymore damage on what remained of Angel. That was when someone, Spike couldn’t remember who, had suggest they put a tube down to his stomach. He’d watched in horror as the doctor had fed the fine tube through Angel’s nose, and taped it to the side of Angel’s face like he’d seen them do for oxygen tubes on daytime telly. It slammed into him then. People with tubes in soaps didn’t often get up again or at least in a believable way. Willow had sat beside him while the doctor worked, explaining what he was doing and why, tried to ease some of his fears. Angel didn’t need to breathe, so they had more leeway with how they could get a feeding tube into him, but Spike had told them about how Angel often coughed up rot from his lungs or vomited in his sleep, so they needed to keep his mouth clear.
Willow had taken him outside when the doctor said he needed to take blood samples and for that he was grateful. He was close enough to know that Angel was safe, but didn’t think he could face anymore tubes and needles just then. When he’d gone back in the doctor had cleaned up and apart from some new bandages and the tube in Angel’s nose hooked up to blood bag, he hadn’t found anything really amiss. Then he’d settles back into his seat and…
He must have fallen asleep soon after that. He could remember the doctor and Willow leaving but not much else apart from the steady rise and fall of Angel’s chest until the sun rose.
“Spike, I brought you something to eat.”
Spike looked back to Willow, startled. He’d forgotten she was there. Her eyes seemed to bore into him. Taking the mug he cradled it in his hands. He felt eviscerated, felt like a puppet with its strings cut. He’d never felt so tired in his life.
“Drink” Willow prompted. “Then you should get some rest, you’re exhausted.”
The gentle tone was like a soothing caress and he felt his eyes droop just listening to it. Obediently he sipped at the mug, barely registering the potent human blood. When the mug was drained, Willow pulled it from his slack hands before he could drop it, and tugged him to his feet. He regained some awareness when she started to pull his t-shirt over his head, but then the voice returned and he compliantly raised his arms above his head.
As he was pushed gently down onto a cot bed that had appeared at some point in the room, his eyes snapped once again to meet gentle green ones. This wasn’t right, he needed to stay awake, had promises to keep.
“shhh… sleep… I’ll be here to watch over him. Just sleep…”
His eyes felt heavy again and he struggled to keep them open, finally realising what was happening.
“You thralled me…” he mumbled as his head hit the pillow.
Willow pulled the blankets up and sighed a deep sad sigh. “You let me.”
Tbc...