[FIC] Three Brass Monkeys (sequel to Midas) S/A - R - 5/6
OK so its been far longer than I first planned, but then again, you can't plan for RL. So here is part 5 and part 6 should follow some-time this weekend. As always dedicated to Myst.
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 Site www.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.
Part 5
Spike watched as Angel was wheeled down the corridor until he was out of sight around a corner. More tests, some kind of scan Willow had said. Sighing he leant against the wall and resisted the urge to charge off down the corridor and demand they brought him back. A couple of days ago he would have, but then again, a couple of days ago he probably would have crucified the orderlies to the wall for trying.
Not that he was any less protective or worried about Angel, because he wasn’t. He just knew that Willow and Dr Goodiard were doing what they needed to do to help. They were helping, he knew that. He did.
Still they seemed no closer to finding a cure and Angel grew weaker by the day. A diet of human blood had probably bought them some time, but it couldn’t buy back the eternity Angel was on the verge of losing. They’d been here four days, four long days where he’d begun to feel more and more useless. Back at the cabin at least he’d been doing something; be it bathing Angel, fetching his blood, changing his dressing or burning the old ones, getting supplies in town, paying the bills, repairing bits and pieces around the cabin, turning Angel every so often, cleaning him up when he was sick in his sleep. Now Angel was fed through a tube, his dressings were disposed of in those little yellow bio-hazard bag thingies, the linens disappeared in the hands of an orderly, the only bill he had to pay was to Willow and she refused to hear anything of it and Angel hadn’t been sick since he’d gone onto the human blood.
He’d drawn the line at letting someone else bathe his sire or change his dressings though. Angel wouldn’t want anyone else doing it; he knew that deep in his very core. Angel was proud and not a little vain, but at the same time could be incredibly shy. To have someone else see him like this and manhandle him would be a betrayal of the relationship they had forged and the trust Angel had placed in him.
But despite that fact that he was doing something, he still felt useless. He wasn’t in his own territory anymore, he couldn’t just take what he needed. Every dressing, every piece of tape, every wash cloth, it all had to be asked for from nurses who he could almost feel the pity pouring from as he passed. They were nurses in the employ of the Watcher’s Council for Christ’s sake and they were Angelus and William the Bloody! The nurses should be if not fearing them, then at least showing a little healthy respect; anything but those god-awful sympathetic looks and useless platitudes.
With a growl he kicked his foot back against the wall. It shouldn’t surprise him really that they looked at him like that. When he’d arrived he’d been a mess, a baggy eyed, waspish, mildly feral, borderline insane, stinking, mess. Willow’s little stunt with the thrall was proof enough of that; it should take a witch of even greater magnitude than even Willow to get close to thralling a master vampire of his age and prowess, but he’d fallen hook line and sinker with only a small addition of camomile to his blood to nudge him along. It was embarrassing, but he couldn’t begrudge Willow for doing it. He’d been wound up tighter than a sack full of Vipers even before the redhead had stepped back into their lives and being at the watchers council had only made things worse. He’d been on the verge of complete and utter meltdown and he knew it.
But Willow had made sure he slept, made sure he got real restful sleep every day since he arrived, even if she had to thrall or threaten to knock him out to get him there. And now after four days of good feeding, real sleep and at least 6 showers he felt somewhere close to his old self, even if his heart was dying as quickly as Angel was.
Angel. Spike pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. Yesterday a blood vessel in his eye had burst, oozing black putrid smelling rot down his cheek in a mockery of tears. There wasn’t much they could do about it but cover that eye with a dressing. Now if Angel did wake again he would be blind in one eye, and by the spread of the black through the vessels in the other it wouldn’t be long before he lost his sight completely. Hear no evil, speak no evil, see no evil. He wished he’d never bought that bloody statue. But even as he thought the words he reminded himself to dig it out of their bags and put it somewhere Angel would see if he did wake again before his sight was lost. Angel had liked it, so he couldn’t be parted from it.
There were a lot of things like that. Things Angel would have wanted or that he liked that Spike found himself clinging too even as he berated himself for using the past tense. Like the Scoobies. Despite everything, despite refusing to help with Illyria, despite Buffy’s relationship with the immortal, Angel still left them everything in his will, still loved them even though they treated him with nothing but contempt. That was the only reason he had convinced Willow it was time, time he fulfilled his side of the bargain and helped with their demon. He wasn’t as blind as Angel had implied when he’d painted that third monkey. He could see the wards of the hospital were full of slayers who had fallen victim to whatever this thing was and although he had first planned to wait until Willow had taken her side of the bargain to its final conclusion, either a cure or Angel’s final death, before he did the same, the sight of those girls and the feeling of uselessness had changed his mind.
Willow had taken some convincing. She was worried about him, and upset with the Scoobies for their attitude and so had kept them from Angel’s room thus far at great personal cost. Dawn had come by daily with updates on what she called the wrath of Giles, each visit bringing more news of just how furious the head watcher was with the redhead for her actions and her refusal to let anyone close to the vampires. But the time had come to face these once allies, turned enigmas, and Dawn had been right in one of her less than tactful comments earlier the previous day. The slayers needed a champion, not a grieving lover on a suicide mission. Strange how he felt close to neither.
“Ready to face the firing squad?”
Spike brought himself out of his musing and turned his head to look at Dawn. The comment had been tactless, inappropriate and thoughtless at first hearing, but when he looked into her blue-grey eyes he saw the reality behind it and offered her a small smile. She was just a kid, more experienced with death than anyone her age should be and she was hurting. He’d actually forgotten that the youngest Summers’ first prepubescent crush had been on the man that had just disappeared down the hall and that whilst Angel and Buffy had dated Dawn had had an older brother for the first time in her life. Of course none of it had actually happened, but the memories were real; to himself as an outside observer, to Angel who had seen his own little sister in the child who chased him around the Summers’ living room with a mirror, fascinated by his lack of reflection and to Dawn herself, who had nothing but those memories to know Angel from.
“As I’ll ever be, bit.”
Dawn rolled her eyes at him and grumped. “I am 18 you know.”
Spike laughed, a small laugh, but still a sign of amusement. “Well I’m 125, and you don’t show me any respect.”
Dawn just groaned and turned away, leaving Spike to follow. They walked in silence, not tense, but not comfortable, just the silence of two people deep in their own thoughts. It wasn’t until they’d left the Hospital block that Dawn spoke again.
“How long have you and Angel…” She trailed off and ducked her head as if sensing that this time the question had been one step too far into normality. Gallows humour was one thing, but it was quite another to be completely without thought.
Spike however just sighed. Better the question came from someone like Dawn, who was only curious and not judgmental or deliberately trying to be cruel, than someone like Harris, who would delight in his anguish.
“From the start I guess.” He eventually replied with a shrug, and it was the truth; there really wasn’t a ‘since when’ with he and Angel, there had simply always been a ‘them’. Looking down at the brunette, although it wasn’t far down since she was almost the same height as him now, he saw the confusion in her face and clarified. “Since he turned me.”
“But you Said Drus…” Dawn halted abruptly when the pain of old guilt dulled Spike’s normally bright eyes. “Oh.”
“me an’ ‘im is complicated, pet.” Spike explained lamely. “But as long as there’s been me, there’s been a me an’ im, does that make sense?”
“I guess,” Dawn replied dubiously. “You love him.” Not a question.
“I love him” He felt like saying it anyway.
“I’m sorry.” Dawn said back after a moment, sliding her hand into his.
Spike squeezed her fingers, accepting her condolences, her reassurance, her hope, her forgiveness and her apology all wrapped up in that one gesture.
“Me too.”
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An air of tense silence had settled. Willow cast surreptitious glances at her two companions as they walked away from Giles’ study, but held her tongue. Dawn was chewing on her thumb nail, her eyes puffy from tears while Spike looked pissed, but also fatigued. She knew why they were angry and part of it was down to her. She was grateful, surprised and flattered by their support, but Spike was having a tough enough time as it was, and she really didn’t want to be the cause of a rift between Dawn and her sister. But they’d come to bat for her, and now everything was all messy.
There had been suspicious angry words from all sides, with her and Dawn caught in the middle. Most of it had been directed at her because of the magic issue, not to mention the fact that Giles hated having the wool pulled over his eyes and Buffy didn’t like Dawn involved with Magic or Vampires. Dawn had been the first to step up and defend her from what the gang considered an intervention - they never did master the art of I statements only - but that seemed to upset them more. Xander had been quick to remind her that Dawn now hated Spike, which the youngest Summers vehemently denied and that combined with the fact that he’d jumped to her defence had brought the focus squarely onto Spike and why he was there.
Giles had treated him with the same cool aloofness he’d always done; he did grudgingly acknowledge that by defeating the senior partners both Spike and Angel had proved themselves not to be evil, but his displeasure at the Vampires’ presence at the sanctum was obvious, as was his scepticism over Spike’s motives.
Before the meeting she’d kept the gang mostly in the dark. All they knew was that Angel had been injured, Spike had been looking after him and was a little protective, not to mention exhausted, and that he’d agreed to help identify the demon in return for a little help getting Angel back on the road to recovery. Spike hadn’t seemed too inclined to enlighten them further, but between Giles interrogation, Xander’s flippant commentary and Faith and Buffy’s unique version of concerned persistence he’d struggled to keep his cool.
It was Xander that finally sent Spike hurtling off the knife edge he’d been tap dancing on. His final comment on how much he wished he could witness Angel’s pain resulted in him being pinned to a wall by an emotionally unstable blond Vampire. Willow didn’t think Spike had actually been all that aware of what he’d been saying as he’d promised to inflict on her childhood friend exactly what Angel was enduring now, and then proceeded to describe it in detail.
[Your veins will swell and burst, blood, puss and foul ooze seeping from your body.]
It had been horrific, so horrific that at the beginning no-one could even move or speak to stop him, his eerily calm voice trickling words of agony and decay like ice water down into their souls. Willow had known some of it, assumed the rest, but even Dawn had been unaware of the full extent of the rot.
[You’ll cry it, you’ll piss it…You’ll smell it, taste it… but mostly you’ll feel it… like worms made of acid running under your skin.]
The anguish in each word, the sympathetic pain for every second of the last year bled into each word and enveloped the entire room. Willow had watched transfixed, wishing she could find the strength to stop him, to get him to cease the words she knew he would regret, but she couldn’t, and instead she’d found herself watching the reactions of the others in the room. Watching as Buffy took a step back as if denial of what she was hearing, watching as Faith turned her face in Robin’s shoulder out of grief or respect she didn’t know. She’d watched Giles sit heavily in his seat, even his cold indifference unable to withstand the words. And Dawn, poor Dawn.
There were some things that no-one needed to hear about someone they cared about, even some-one who was no stranger to death. Dawn’s face had been frozen in shock and horror, tears falling unheeded down her cheeks as she listened. That had been the impetus Willow had needed to take one step forward, and then another and another until she was stood behind Spike. A gentle hand on his back had broken his seeming trance and he’d blinked at her, wide lost golden eyes. Then clarity had returned and he’d thrown Xander away from him in disgust and spun to face the room, seeing Dawn the moment he did. They’d looked to her then, and she knew what she had to do, regardless of what it cost her.
Pacing to Giles’ desk, she’d snatched up the file that contained all the information on the demon they had and guided her two lost souls out of the room. The blind leading the blind, but at least they were moving. And now here they were, angry, confused, hurting and unsure, guiding Dawn back to her room and trying to avoid having to deal with the fall out from this latest in a long line of personal apocalypses.
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“I’m sorry luv, I didn’t mean to it just all came out.”
Spike let his eyes rest on Angel’s lax and unresponsive face. He knew Angel couldn’t hear him, but somehow it felt better to talk to him. For a whole 24 hours all he felt he could do was beg Angel’s forgiveness for what he’d said in Giles office. He wanted to capture each word he’d spoken and shove back in his mouth but he couldn’t. He’d told them everything, and in so doing had broken Angel’s trust once again. He’d known it would happen, known deep down that by coming he would wind up betraying Angel, because these people only respected loyalty if it was loyalty to them.
His eyes flickered to the file about the demon he’d left on the nightstand. He hadn’t been surprised the watchers didn’t know about this demon, or how to kill it, but he was damned if he was going to take that file back up to Giles, so he’d scribbled a quick note on the back and planned to give it to Willow. With a sigh he turned back to Angel. “Am I being petty luv? I wish you could tell me. I’m kinda lost here.”
“Ahem”
Spike looked up and drew in deep breath through his nose as he glanced at the person standing in the doorway.
“You’re not welcome ‘ere.”
Giles stood stoically in the door way, the only indication he was affected by what he was seeing were the glasses that rested in his hands rather than on his nose. At Spike’s comment he raised and eyebrow and stepped fully into the room.
Spike narrowed his eyes but didn’t comment, too much was at stake. ‘And wasn’t that a bad choice of words?’ Instead he watched the Watcher as he looked over the room, his eyes finally coming to rest on the latest addition. It looked like one of those heart monitor thingies he’s seen on daytime telly, but it didn’t measure heartbeats. The dark screen was marked by a single erratic red line from one side to the other, showing a pattern of definite if steady decline; Angel’s life force. Willow said she’d filched it from Wolfram and hart’s London clinic before the banks had closed in; it didn’t surprise him in the least that Wolfram and Hart developed something like this, considering who, or more likely what they treated in their numerous clinics and hospitals.
Eventually watching Giles study the small screen began to grate on his fragile nerves and with a sigh of irritation he huffed. “What do you want Watcher?”
“Hmmm?” Giles replied distractedly before turning towards the vampire. “I was wandering if you’d identified the demon yet.”eplied distractedlyle nerves and with a sigh of iritation ous clinics and hospitals. n the latest addition to the ed in
Jerking to his feet, Spike snatched the file from the bedside and tossed it at Giles, watching the older looking man scramble to catch it. Cold blue eyes blazed with hell fire as they fell on the Watcher and he snarled. "Yeah, I identified your sodding demon,” Stepping up so he was nose to nose with Giles Spike hissed at him. “Now get out.”
Giles returned Spike’s arctic glare with an impassive look, and only turned to leave once he’d straightened the file out. Spike kept his narrow eyed gaze on the watcher’s back as he moved to the door, unsurprised when Giles turned just before he crossed the threshold.
“For what it’s worth, Spike,” Giles said with the same neutrality he’d spoken with the entire time he’d been in the room. “I hope Willow finds what he needs.”
Spike growled loudly and clenched his fists at his sides. Paying no attention Giles just continued to walk out of the room, but Spike hadn’t failed to notice the stake distorting the lining of his jacket.
Tbc…