Episode 1: Reflections (Part 1)
Guest Starring Rebecca De Mornay as Matron Fisher.
“Spike, you do not need an office!”
The tension was thick in the conference room, and tempers were beginning to fray. Wesley was on the verge of rising from his seat, barely keeping his anger in check, and Gunn’s frustration was clearly evident on his face. Spike kept his cool though, mainly because he knew it would infuriate them even more, something that never ceased to amuse him. The weird thing was the great blue fairy, who usually remained indifferent or absent in these discussions, but this time Spike could have sworn he occasionally caught the faint twinges of a smile playing around the corner of her mouth. Hell, maybe they had more in common than the strong urge to punch things every now and again.
The stupid thing was that it was only half nine in the sodding morning, the sunlight streaming harmlessly through the necro-tempered miracle glass, and already they were at each others’ throats. Ok, so half nine was late for him, and he was somewhat at an advantage when it came to throats being in close proximity. Yet all the same, it seemed early in principle, and that left him doubly agitated. It appeared obvious to him, of course; Mr Forehead was away, so he, as the only other ensouled vampire in the building (and on the whole bloody planet), should be left in charge. But no. Couldn’t leave Spike in charge now, could we? We might end up coming back from the Bahamas to find the house had burned down, after all. Spike absently cast his mind back to all the times he really had left houses burned down, and his resulting fond smile did little to appease the former Watcher.
“Damn right I do,” he snapped back at them, “’m tired of all that hero Spartan existence bollocks, I think it’s about time I got somewhere decent to hang my hat. Anyway, you’ve all got one, I’m meant to be part of the team now, remember?”
He could just move into Angel’s office, he supposed. The poof wouldn’t be back for a good few days, should be plenty of time to change the locks, chuck out the Rat Pack albums, and shag the secretary. Admittedly, he had a habit of doing that anyway, but that wasn’t the point. He was about to voice this aloud when Gunn responded, cutting off whatever Head Boy had been going to say.
“Just give him an office, Wes, we’re hardly short of space, and it’ll shut him up for a couple of hours.”
Wyndham-Price held his tongue, holding his ground for a few moments, then hanging his head in despair, and shaking it in acquiescence. Spike, in an unusual moment of sensibility, a sure sign he didn’t drink enough these days, decided to stay quiet, to not gloat and rub it in their faces as he normally would.
He glanced around again. Illyria sat beside him as if carved from stone, but he thought he still caught an air of amusement from her, something he was sure the others had missed. Gunn and Wes sat on the other side of the conference table facing them, Gunn in his usual baggy trousers and t-shirt, orange today, busily scanning his list in front of him of the various things they were meant to be discussing during the meeting, and had been before the argument about the office. The other wore a non-descript dark purplish shirt and corduroy trousers, with the top button undone and no tie, and seemed to be regaining his composure, ready to move on. Spike, as usual, couldn’t resist.
“How come Angel gets an executive holiday, anyway?”
Wesley gave him a withering look, and droned his response, repeated for at least the thirtieth time in the last week.
“Because he is the CEO, and he works and sleeps solidly inside this building. The same reason he has a helicopter, the same reason he gets paid more than us, and the same reason he’s the one who has to answer to the Senior Partners.”
“Not out of pity over the no sex thing he’s got going on?”
Completely ignoring Spike, Wesley smiled at Gunn and Illyria before addressing them.
“Charles, what, according to the agenda, are we supposed to be discussing?”
Charlie boy scanned the paper on the table in front of him, pursing his lips when he reached a point half way down.
“Two client meetings, one involving a piskari demon accused of statutory rape, the other allegations of goat theft. Our competition from New York is stepping up the heat on the Winson case, it’d really help if we could get a definitive answer on the blood spattering. Clearly I’ve got some preparation to do, they’ve set the court date for the Foxwold case, you know, the trans-dimensional immigration one?”
Spike drifted off, entirely bored by the day-to-day proceedings at Wolfram & Hart. All his life he had heard men talk of how the years rushed by, but he had never quite known what they meant. He lived every day exactly as he wanted, savouring every moment and all that. Yet now he could almost relate to them, the tedium of the nine to five routine was beginning to get to him, waking up and going to work at the same time every day, and he could easily see a decade passing in the time it took him to turn around.
Reaching down beside his seat, he thumbed open the catches on his briefcase. Yeah, he had a briefcase. A black leather one, no less. And if he stayed here long enough, it might even contain proper briefcase stuff, perish the thought. As he scrabbled around inside it trying to find something, his hand passed four cans of lager, his clipboard, a pair of sai, and finally reached the thing he was after, a copy of the morning paper.
Wesley was of course openly critical when Spike pulled out the paper and began flicking through it in the middle of the meeting, and Spike hardly bothered denying that causing mild irritation was a large part of his reason for doing so.
“Just checking the headlines,” he said without looking up. “Seemed easier than having some of our guys keep an eye on him.”
Those across the table met his eyes with confused expressions, completely lost and clearly expecting an explanation. Spike sighed and started to respond, when Illyria spoke up.
“He speaks of your leader. He checks for reports of the violence that would occur if his true self emerged.”
“You think Angel’s gonna turn evil on us again?” Gunn asked, surprised and just a little defensive, while the Watcher raised his eyebrow at Illyria enquiringly.
“I heard him asking the blonde one about the cost of hiring men to observe the half-breed,” she admitted, oddly demurely, fixing a glare on Harmony through the glass office walls to indicate who she meant by ‘the blonde one.’ Harm, as usual, saw her watching and ducked slightly lower behind her desk.
“I’m not saying a romantic getaway with wolf girl will make him go the whole 12 black rainbows, but it’s not like it hasn’t happened before. Better safe than screwed, I reckon.”
And besides, he had to do something, and this beat listening in meetings about stuff he had no idea about. He wasn’t really set up for this whole legal angle, in fact he’d spent his entire unlife on the other side of the fence. So it was keeping a probably-unnecessary eye on his grandsire, or doing completely sod-all. The little green man had gone for the latter, and Spike didn’t want to end up like him. It still wasn’t quite right without Lorne, the mood tended to be much too serious, but the man had been right about one thing, he’d had no place here. Well, he’d been right about it being corrupting, soul-destroying and evil too, but as far as Spike was concerned it was still far less torturous than a karaoke bar, or wherever the Hell Lorne was now.
The others had gone back to discussing the new cases, dropping the subject of his keeping tabs on Angel. If he’d been paying attention, he might even have caught the slight nod of approval from Wesley. Spike was still lost in his thoughts, reflecting on how much death surrounded them.
He and Captain Forehead were both dead, that was a given, but with Lorne gone, the whole place seemed dead. Fred was dead, and as a result, Wes might as well have been. In the not-too-distant past, Gunn enjoyed the delights of a gruesome death on a daily basis, and Illyria was, well, not dead, but not chirping with positive energy either. Unfortunately Harmony was, pretty much overruling her technically being dead too, but as soon as the subject of unicorns came up, which happened at least every two hours, Spike started wishing she’d bitten the bullet a bit more permanently. The place had been livened up briefly by Cordelia’s reappearance, only to find out that she had been dead all along, which seemed almost typical of life at Wolfram & Hart. Everyone I love is dead. Or they think I am. Bollocks.
Click to viewWhat kind of moron would cross a couple of acres of parkland, complete with several shadowy clusters of trees and bushes, at one in the morning? Spike pondered over the question as he ran, leaping a small bush, quickly gaining ground on his quarry. Unfortunately, so was the competition, the reason for the screams that had dragged him away from his quiet walk home. It had been a long, useless day, and he didn’t begrudge the call to action too much, it was something he could actually do, without having to consider it from every sodding angle before making his move, only to then have it criticised by the former Watcher.
The other pursuer was rapidly closing the distance, and Spike sprinted for all he was worth. He was too late though. The other guy, a big, hulking guy, with speed belied by his appearance, leaped at the fleeing aforementioned moron, and brought him bodily to the ground, scrambling quickly on top to sink fangs into his neck. Spike dived on top of them, but not before the other vamp had reared up sharply, clutching his head in agony. Very shaken, Spike completely missed the pair, landing on his front and skidding across the grass beside them. He instantly rolled over and jumped up, but knew he needn’t have bothered. He’d recognise that reaction anywhere, the blinding flash of pain, and he knew the vamp was no longer a threat.
What he didn’t know was how the Hell a vampire in LA, probably an American Football player from the look of him, the stupid pansy, got a chip stuck in his head. The guy couldn’t have been older than 20, and certainly hadn’t been in the game long. Spike didn’t recognise him at all from his time in that sterile white Hellhole, and he was sure he’d known all the other demons there, by sight at least. Which could only mean…
“Run!” he barked at the skinnier man, sprawled on the ground, who then wriggled his way out from beneath the massive vamp and pegged it. Spike got slowly up and strolled over to the ponce still writhing on the ground, holding his head and moaning.
“I know a man in Africa who can stop the pain,” Spike told him, standing over him. The sorry loser couldn’t have looked more pitiful if he tried, and Spike’s heart went out to him. It would have done, at least, if it worked, and if the guy wasn’t clearly a right wanker. But his situation? That, Spike had sympathy for. He crouched down on one knee over the vamp and continued.
“’Course, comes at a high price, bit more than your usual pack of Aspirin. But he can make the pain in your head go away.” It comes back stronger in other places. “Think the soul might be a bit out of your price range, mate. Luckily I know a handy alternative treatment.”
Long before the other could react, Spike whipped out a stake and slammed it through his chest. He turned his head to avoid his eyes being filled with dust, but he caught a glint as something small and metallic fell to the ground. Running his fingers through the newly-formed pile of pale dust, he stopped when he felt something solid, fishing it out and holding it up in front of him.
Though the moon was mostly obscured in cloud that night, enough light showed to reflect clearly off the coin-sized metal object. He could do nothing but stare at it, his eyes trying to bore holes in it, and he became absently aware of a low, feral, growl from somewhere near by, and realised a moment later that it came from his own throat. Wanting nothing more but to crush the hated chip, he instead tucked it away in his coat pocket.
“Done you a favour,” he told the pile of dust, “and saved you a truck load of misery.”
He stood up, turned around and headed off, quickly checking that that evening’s victim was nowhere in sight. You’re welcome, he thought, but he wasn’t convinced the pleasantry had been aimed at the human.
*
The next day, Spike arrived at Wolfram & Hart carrying a box. Due to his sleepiness at the time, it had taken him most of the day to remember, but he was sure that the previous morning the others had agreed to let him have an office. And so he had brought with him a box of random keepsakes, the sort of thing he imagined an executive would fill their office with, pictures of their kids and cars, golf trophies and the like. Only, Spike had none of those, so he had improvised.
One advantage of the sewer entrance was that it was open all hours, so that creatures of the night like he could work on a more comfortable timescale. It was bizarre walking past Harm’s desk with her not there, with no one walking around the rest of the lobby, and Angel’s office empty. But Spike did what had to be done, and if getting into work at seven was what it took, that was exactly what he did. Only once, though, he thought it fair to say he was not a morning person.
He didn’t remember ever seeing the guy who had the office next door to Brooding Misery’s, but Spike hoped that he wasn’t massive, with a history of violence. Though at this company, that wasn’t unlikely. It was just that his office looked good, and having his working space this close to Angel was likely to be very entertaining. The office door was of course unlocked, and Spike snuck inside, closing the door behind him in case anyone else decided an early start was called for.
His stealth was short lived, as the next second he tripped over a box of files on the floor, tumbling arse over tit, his own box going flying in the process. He might have let out a disappointingly unmanly exclamation of surprise, which he tried to cover with a good deal of swearing when he hit the floor. He picked himself up and stayed quiet for a few seconds, listening for any reactions to his outburst. It was likely he was the only person on the entire floor, so he was probably safe.
He turned away and bent down to rescue the former contents of his box when he took in the rest of the room. The carpet was barely visible, as the floor was covered in boxes and papers. Most boxes were missing their lids, revealing more files inside. The desk was also covered in several layers of official-looking papers. He was just beginning to wonder whether the office’s former occupant had been inexplicably unorganised, or if a bomb or vortex or something had turned the place upside down, when the door opened a few inches, and he spun around to face it.
“Harmony?!” he exclaimed, as her head popped ‘round the door.
“Blondie b… How come you’re in here? And why are you here so early? You usually don’t show up ‘til, like, one, or something.”
She stepped fully into the room, and Spike was granted a full view of her outfit, which, somewhat predictably, was a pale pink. Well, her skirt and jacket were, her top was a deeper pink. All in all, Spike was reminded of a chewing gum ad he saw recently. Though the advert hadn’t featured as much cleavage, or quite such a pretty girl. Or that much cleavage.
“Oi! I get in long before one. Mostly. Sometimes. How come you’re here at this ungodly hour, anyway?”
“Oh, Angel asked me to come in early while he was away,” she said with a slight shrug. “He said if I could get stuff organised early, it’d run more smoothly for the others trying to fill in for him.”
She shrugged again and smiled, then looked around at the chaotic office. Spike knelt down and began picking his stuff up from the floor, glancing up at her frequently.
“And does it?”
Harm looked thoughtful, which Spike found a little bit funny, but also rather sweet. He continued refilling his box of random things, which was oddly pointless since he meant to unload the stuff in this room anyway.
“I guess. I mean, no one really tells me either way, so I wouldn’t know for sure.”
“So,” he responded, now standing up and setting his box down on the cluttered desk, “you’re here two hours before everyone else, working to make their day go better, and they don’t even say thank you for it?”
When she nodded reluctantly, he raised his eyebrow sharply at her, and continued in a conspiratorial whisper.
“Ever thought of not doing it?”
Harmony considered it, and Spike set about finding homes for the various things in his box. He took out a pair of broadswords, they’d have to be crossed on the wall behind his chair to make his desk look more imposing. How the Hell do they actually attach these things to the walls?
“Well, he’s kinda the boss, he’d probably shout at me or something. I mean, he’d shout at me anyway, but…”
“Give it a try. Bet the others don’t even know it’s you that prepares all this stuff, so they won’t know who’s given it a miss this time around. And if it gets back to the boss, you said yourself, he’d find something to get worked up about anyway. The man just isn’t happy if he’s happy…”
*
Oh, she had probably totally ruined her chenille jacket and her dry-cleaner would kill her, but for once in her life she wasn’t going to complain about that. Well, she would later, but not now. Now was the time of fuzzy and warm and, balls, she’d have to get dressed again and go back to her desk in, like, ten minutes. Now she remembered why it had taken so long to leave him in the first place, why it was only when she saw him there with Buffy and Drongo, or whatever her name had been, that she’d finally had enough.
And then, last time she’d been this close to him, she’d got possessed by, uh, no idea what by actually, but her eyes had started bleeding and she’d tried to bite him, and Spike had punched her. That had really hurt, too. Not really in, like, a physical, actual hurty way, but one of those deep, emotional things.
“Harm? Can I jump on your computer for a couple of minutes later?”
My computer? But the boss would probably see and then ask her why he was there and why she wasn’t working and then he’d flip at her and, Ooh, Angel isn’t here! In that case, it was no problem, but anyway, why would he want to use it?
“No problem. But anyway, why would you want to use it?”
“Need to print out a photo of Buffy from Facebook.”
Asshole! How could he still be thinking about the Slayer, with herself lying so close to him? After what they had just done together? Oh my God, was he thinking about her the whole time? Harmony had also forgotten what a total bastard Spike could be sometimes. Spike caught her look of daggers, and explained slightly, but only made it worse.
“Gonna put it in the empty frame on the desk, beside the signed one of Johnny Rotten where he spelled his name wrong.”
Harmony snapped and started hitting him with all the force she could muster. Since she was lying on the floor with no clothes on, that wasn’t actually a lot of force, and it came out as a volley of very weak slaps which he easily batted away.
“Spike,” she ground out between blows, in a voice so cold she was rather proud of it, “why would you want a photo of the Slayer?”
He started laughing, which only made her more furious, and he had to shield himself with a raised elbow as she tried to slap him as many times as she possibly could.
“Because,” he said between snorts of laughter, “it would really piss off Angel.”
She certainly hadn’t been expecting that as a reply, though the he and the boss were always bitching about each other. She stopped trying to hit Spike, instead deciding to pout at him.
“Couldn’t you just have a picture of me instead?”
“Harm, the office walls are glass. If I look up from my desk, I can see you for real.”
It’d be nice all the same… Spike sat up and started scrabbling around for his clothes. Was it really time to get dressed already? Working sucked. Although, she wasn’t wearing a watch, and couldn’t see a clock anywhere, could he be leaving early?
“Got a meeting to get to,” he said when she looked up at him questioningly, which sounded like an exit strategy to her.
“Have you really? Or are you just making excuses to get rid of me?”
Spike, having now found and put on most of his clothes, bent down to pick up his trenchcoat, shrugged it on, looked down at her, and seemed almost to sigh a little.
“I’m not lying to you. A, I don’t care that much,” he said pointedly, starting to count reasons on his fingers in front of her, “B, the meeting is in the next room, and C, you were the one that told me about it in the first place.”
He turned and headed out for the exit, half turning and waving to her as he went through the door, and closed it behind him. Harmony was left alone in the silent office, which now looked even more of a bombsite than it had been to begin with. Probably time to put some clothes on…
*
The white-haired one raised his voice too often, she noted irritably. It disturbed her from her musings, something few others had ever dared considering, yet he offered no apology, in fact he did not even seem to realise he was bothering her. So there she sat, bothered. She had once told Wesley that she was only bothered because she was bothered, but now it rankled even deeper than then. Now, not only was she bothered, but she was accepting it, not responding, not grinding them beneath her heel as they grovelled for pardon. ‘Progress,’ the humans would have called it.
She did not think of it so. Progress was the conquering of valuable territories and the vanquishing of multi-phasic rivals, these humans knew nothing of world domination or the way things should be. They knew very little at all. And yet they were all she had. Inevitably, this was the conclusion she reached with every chain of conscious thought, which did nothing to ease her disposition.
“…You cannot allow them to control a demon against its will!”
The half-breed was very close to shouting, and his words gained her attention. He was arguing with the dark-skinned one, sitting across the table from him, defending his position with strong hand movements, but not yet raising his voice as animatedly.
“Way I see it, bunch of vamps running around LA unable to bite people, no biggie.”
A screeching filled the air as the vampire pushed his chair out from the desk, and though the others did not flinch, they clearly felt pain at the sound.
“You don’t know what it’s like,” he said firmly, standing up and drawing his animalhide skin around him, “to be powerless to defend yourself.”
The human also pushed back his chair and stood, but much more smoothly and without sound. He leaned over the desk on his fists and spoke in a low, controlled manner.
“I know exactly what that’s like. And as I recall, it was because of all those uncontrolled demons.”
“Bit different when it’s your own body that’s being held in check, when you’re helpless against those you once fed upon, living among the cattle.”
“Yeah, and as you put it like that, I rest my case.”
The half-breed did not reply immediately, visibly shaking from the effort of not doing so, and Illyria smelled the delectable aroma of imminent violence. After a few seconds of intense standoff, he shook his head, muttered “Sod this,” turned and left, slamming the door behind him.
*
It was true that most demons bars looked remarkably similar, but all the same, he missed seeing Willie behind the bar. I wonder where he got to in the end? There Spike sat, the Blue Princess of Hell beside him, drinks on the table in front of him, on the hunt for information. They’d found nothing so far, which meant that this time around, the Initiative were being a lot more subtle. Hell, maybe they’d even gone so far as to employ soldiers who weren’t college students.
“It is regrettable that Wesley would not assist you in your quest. His methods are not as tiresome.”
He gave her a cool look, taking a deep swig from his pint before replying.
“Nothing tiresome about sitting in a pub. ‘Sides, you said you’d never been to one before.”
Now it was her turn to fix him with a look, in her case filled with impatience and contempt.
“And now I have visited nine. This one provides no more of use than its predecessors. I was hopeful that your retreat into your office after you sharply left the conference room had been in search of reference texts, yet you carry none.”
“Nah, just had to set my voicemail, to say I’m out of the office.”
Ok, the look she now gave him was impressive, conveying a scarily high level of scorn. Hmmmm. And he’d thought she was warming to him.
“You halted your quest for justice and vengeance for this detail of pointless politeness?”
“Yeah, well, trying to look professional and all that,” he snapped in defence.
It wasn’t like she’d ever understand, of course, but he could sort of see why she was disparaging of it. He probably would have been himself, not too long ago. But then, since Angel got made CEO, and since the poof went on holiday and left the rest of them in charge for a bit, Spike had come to appreciate the power behind being at the top of the corporate ladder. Of course! What he needed was a secretary!
“And these tossers are a modern military outfit, doubt the ancient books have much to say about them,” he pointed out.
Of all the enemies from his past that could have reared their often-ugly heads in LA, it had to be the one likely to have access to more firepower than Wolfram & Hart. Not the pissed off son of a slayer, not Sorvad or the Countess or even that bloody ponce Dracula, but the sodding Initiative. Or Dru…
He’d not heard anything from Drusilla since the last time she’d come back to Sunnydale, but he thought she was in South America. And he desperately hoped she stayed there. He knew if he ever saw her again, now he had his soul back he really shouldn’t be attracted to someone that had caused, and continued to cause, that much suffering. He knew he’d have to warn her to stay away, and drive a stake through her heart if she refused. But he also knew that he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off of her, that he’d fall straight back in love all over again. He was a bad, bad man.
“Whaddaya know, it does provide some use,” he told Illyria, taking in what he had been absently watching while lost in his thoughts. She cocked her head on one side, as if examining him, and he clarified quietly.
“The vamp up there at the bar, the one in the brown leather jacket, he’s buying bags of blood from the bartender. What self-respecting creature of the night would pay for blood when he could get it from the source on the moonlit streets of LA?”
She looked around at the guy in question, and for a brief moment Spike thought about warning her not to look or draw attention to themselves, but then realised the hassle he would have explaining to her why that would be a bad thing, and thought better of it.
At the bar, the vamp noticed her watching and immediately turned away, heading for the door. Illyria got up to follow, leaving Spike to down the remainder of his pint, and then, after getting up and making it half way across the room, returning to their table to finish hers.
By the time he had got outside, Blue already had the guy pinned up against the wall by his neck, his feet lifted several inches above the ground. Subtlety really wasn’t in that girl’s vocabulary, he noted with a smile. He came to stand behind her left shoulder, hands in his pockets, looking up at her captive with a bored expression.
“Now, what’s an able-bodied vampire, that’d be you, doing buying blood over the counter?”
“Screw you, man,” spat the vamp as he tried to kick out at Illyria as hard as he possibly could. When she didn’t even flinch, his shoulders slumped a little. As much as shoulders could slump, that was, when being held up by the throat. He really was just a kid, couldn’t be any older than 20, and had only been turned within the last few months.
“Ugh, I don’t have time for this. I’m a busy man, you know, things to kill, evil government scientists to put a stop to…”
Exactly as predicted, the kid looked up at this, and the suspicion on his face was soon thrown to the wind in favour of hope. Just a bit more encouragement, and he’d spill the beans and show them where to go. And then they really could get on with the killing and scientist stopping part.
“Just tell me where they are,” Spike pushed, managing to keep himself from sounding too hostile. He laid a hand on Illyria’s shoulder, letting her know to relax a bit and put the guy down, wondering if she’d do it, or if she’d turn and punch him.
The vamp’s feet touched the floor, and he leaned forwards, clutching his throat. The Blue Meanie stayed within arm’s reach, ready to lash out if she deemed it necessary.
“I don’t know anything,” he said miserably. He kept his head down, but snatched wary glances up at the pair of them from time to time.
“I was out one night, a couple of blocks from here, trying to feed, when I got zapped from behind. Next thing I know, I’m waking up in a gutter with this thing in my head.”
Though vampires were able to keep up with the rapid movement of others of their kind, as he swept in Spike doubted the kid knew what hit him when he was grabbed and held against the wall again, this time by the front of his coat.
“Not good enough,” Spike snarled, his face barely two inches from the other’s. Illyria remained still, looking only mildly interested, which seemed to unnerve the kid even more.
“We’re gonna lay a trap for them,” he continued to growl, “in fact, we’re gonna spring one of theirs. So all you need to do is point yourself in the direction of where you were caught, and run like Hell.”
“Huh?”
Being met with a blank look, Spike chose that moment to pull the young vamp away from the wall and wave his arm out, emphatically gesturing to start running. When this still did not come to pass, he turned to Illyria.
“Would you mind?”
In one single movement she had closed in, shifted her weight and swung her arm out wide, catching the kid’s jaw with the back of her fist. There was a delicious crunch of bone, and a body flying at least fifteen feet backwards. Having been on the receiving end of several of those in the training room, Spike grimaced slightly in sympathy. No time for that now though, he thought as his fangs descended and he roared into the night.
“I said run!”
*
Continued in Part 2