Fic: The Last Champion (Rated R for language)
My contribution to 2005's summer_of_spike posted 07/30/05.
Title: The Last Champion
Author: Sandy
Word Count: ~6,800
Characters: Spike, Angel
Rated: R
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine. I only play with them once in a while.
Summary: Fifty years after the battle with Wolfram and Hart, Angel presents Spike with a decision that will change his life forever.
A/N: Although this fic is set fifty years in the future, I made no attempt to present a futuristic world. After all, the people of fifty years ago all thought we'd be living on Mars and driving flying cars. :)
Many thanks to my wonderful beta, avidrosette. Her insights and suggestions are always spot-on. And she catches all the pesky little spelling and grammatical errors, too!
The old man exited his cramped, dusty apartment, limped to the front door, and cautiously descended the outside steps, clutching the hand rail and using his cane for balance. When he finally reached the sidewalk he made his way slowly up the block taking extra caution as dusk settled in. He made the same trip at the same time every day, rain or shine, winter or summer. He'd done so for the past five years.
When he reached the diner, he entered and immediately went to the small table at the back that he'd claimed as his own. Taking a seat, he slipped out of his old, worn jacket and waited patiently for the waitress to come over to take his order.
"We have vegetarian vegetable or cream of potato today," a light feminine voice said, setting down a cup of hot water and a tea bag in front of him.
He opened the teabag and said, "Potato," without looking up.
"Okay," she said and walked away.
It was the same thing every day, a cup of tea and a bowl of the soup of the day. He didn't have much appetite anymore, which worked out nicely since he didn't have much money either.
He finished fixing his tea and took a sip watching the other people in the diner as they ate and talked or read newspapers. Nobody was very distinct because his eyes had dimmed with age and cataracts were forming in the once bright blue eyes. The thick glasses he'd been reduced to wearing did little to sharpen his vision.
His soup came and he picked up the spoon with stiff fingers and scooped a bit up, blowing on it to cool it before taking a sip. He supposed it was good. He couldn't tell really. His taste buds were as dull as his eyesight. Once upon a time he'd solved the problem of dull taste buds with spicy food - hot chicken wings and barbecue potato chips and pizza piled high with extra pepperoni and hot peppers - but that was a long time ago and his stomach wouldn't allow him to eat such things any more. His meals now consisted of oatmeal and soft boiled eggs and endless bowls of soup.
He hoped he would die soon.
His attention was on his meal and he looked up in surprise when the chair on the opposite side of the table was pulled out and someone sat down. His eyes widened and his hand shook when he saw what had taken a seat across from him. Swallowing, he forced himself to lower his eyes and ignore the specter.
"What, no hellos? No curses? No 'what the hell are you doing here?'" the thing asked in a mocking voice.
The old man's hand trembled again, but he kept his focus on his soup. He may be finally going 'round the bend, but he wasn't going to make a scene in a public place. He had that much pride left anyway.
He glanced up in surprise again when the waitress came over to his table and said, "Do you need a menu?"
She was talking to the apparition.
"You can see him?" the old man asked in astonishment.
His visitor laughed and said teasingly to the waitress, "He thinks he's seeing things."
The waitress gave the old man a cautious look and sidled away from him a bit. The other man smirked and said, "Just bring me a cup of coffee, okay?"
She nodded and scurried away. The old man stared at the other. "I thought you were dead. Fifty years dead."
"Yeah, well, Spike, you know how it is with our crowd. We never seem to be able to stay dead."
The old man looked back down at his rapidly cooling soup. "Not Spike anymore, you know."
The other man smirked. "Yeah, I can see that. So, how's that Shanshu working out for you?"
"Fuck you, Angel," the old man snapped, glaring angrily at his companion.
Angel laughed. "Now you're Spike again."
The waitress came and placed the cup of coffee in front of Angel and hovered for a minute, eyes showing appreciation for the tall, dark-haired stranger. Spike rolled his eyes and determinedly went back to eating his tepid soup.
"Can I get you anything else?" the girl asked.
"This'll do, thanks," Angel said dismissively.
She looked disappointed but nodded and left the table again.
"Why are you here, bothering me?" Spike asked, curious in spite of himself.
Angel poured sugar into his coffee and stirred it, taking his time before answering. Looking back up at Spike he said, "There's an imbalance in the world, and we need to fix it."
Spike looked at him incredulously. "We? You think I can help? Look at me. Thanks to that bloody Shanshu, I'm old." Leaning forward he hissed, "This should be you, not me."
"You're right, it should be," Angel sighed picking up his cup and taking a drink. He looked at Spike with sad, compassionate eyes. "The Powers That Be want to rectify things."
Spike scoffed and took another drink of tea, made a face at the cold, bitter brew, and pushed his cup aside. "You expect me to believe The Powers That Be give a donkey's dick about me?"
Angel's lip curled in a small smile. "Actually, they do, whether or not you believe it. You're a hero and a champion, and that counts in their book. But the Shanshu was never meant for anyone but me. When I signed it away, it settled by default on you after the defeat of the Senior Partners."
"What do you mean, you signed it away?" Spike asked in astonishment. "When?"
His voice had become a little loud and Angel looked around with a frown. "Keep your voice down. Look, can we go somewhere more private to talk?"
Spike narrowed his eyes. "I'm not so sure I want to talk with you or get involved in whatever you came here for. I'm old and I'm tired and I'm ready to die, and it can't happen any too soon for me."
"Bullshit," Angle said mildly. "I know you better than that, William." He stopped as the waitress returned to the table with the coffee pot.
"Refill?"
"No, we're leaving. Can I have the check, please?" Angel answered reaching for his wallet.
The waitress looked disappointed again, but nodded and went away to prepare the bill.
"I didn't say I'd leave with you," Spike said querulously.
Angel ignored him and took the check from the waitress. Glancing at it, he took a bill from his wallet and handed it to her. "Keep the change."
Her eyes widened when she realized the size of the tip he was giving her and gave him a blinding smile. "Thanks!"
"When did you become a big tipper?"
"You wound me, Spike. I've always been generous," he said with a smirk as he reached out a hand and helped Spike to stand. Spike shrugged off Angel's hand as soon as he had his balance, slipped back into his coat, and began to limp away from the table.
"You've always been a right cheap bastard, and you know it," he retorted. He could hear Angel chuckling behind him.
They walked back to Spike's apartment, Angel modifying his gait to match the much slower pace of the elderly Spike. Spike didn't speak to his companion, too filled with the memories of the past fifty years.
After the fight with the demons sent by the Senior Partners, he and Illyria had been the only ones left standing. He'd seen Angel burned to dust in the blast of the dragon's flame, while Gunn had breathed his last fifteen minutes into the fight. Spike always believed he lasted that extra five minutes just to spite Illyria's prediction of ten minutes.
Once Angel was gone, the demons disappeared. Illyria had believed that after the destruction of the Black Thorn, their ties to this plane had centered on Angel.
"Then why kill him?" Spike had asked, wiping the rain - and that was all it was, he'd insisted to himself - out of his eyes. "If Angel kept them here, why take him out?"
"I am not sure," Illyria had answered indifferently. "But I believe that as long as he was here, they would be tied to this plane and yet impotent. It would be better to be gone completely."
Spike had nodded, forcing the grief he felt for the death of his friends and Angel down and away. There would be time to mourn later, when he was alone. Now was the time to figure out what to do next. Illyria and Spike stood together in the pouring rain, and Spike had just turned to ask her what she thought their next move should be when a searing pain flashed through his body. He collapsed in agony, and when the pain finally subsided, he was human again.
When the shock had finally worn off, he realized that his new state put him in a very precarious position. He had no identification, no money, and no friends unless he counted Illyria, which he probably shouldn't. Having no idea what else to do, he'd broken down and called Giles. The Watcher had been amazed to hear from him, not having known he was alive. Apparently young Andrew had actually kept his secret. When Spike had explained his predicament, Giles had agreed to help him on one condition: Buffy must never know that he was alive and that he was human. It hadn't taken much thought for Spike to agree. As a human he felt he would be useless to her as a warrior and as far as their personal relationship went, well, she'd moved on, hadn't she? And, truth to tell, so had he. He'd made his restitution to her, died for her, and it was better to just let her continue to believe him dead.
Giles was true to his word, and within a week Spike had papers and a bit of cash to tide him over until he could get himself settled. Illyria had surprised him by sticking around for a bit, but then one morning he'd awakened to find she was gone. He never saw or heard from her again.
It was hard at first being completely alone like that, but eventually he got himself sorted out. He found a new apartment and got a job working as a classic car mechanic. He made a few casual friends and occasionally dated, though he never fell in love with any of them. They were all nice enough girls, but Spike had gotten too used to extraordinary to settle for just nice.
He'd found it surprisingly easy to stay away from demon killing. His one and only foray into it had nearly gotten him killed. Besides, with Wolfram and Hart out of the picture, demon activity had fallen dramatically. The four Slayers assigned to the Greater Los Angeles area were more than enough to handle the demons and vamps that were left.
And so the years passed, and if he missed his other life, he pretended he didn't. His only concession to his old life was the poetry he still occasionally wrote. Five years ago, he'd finally retired on a tiny pension and Social Security. He moved from his small and shabby apartment to an even smaller and shabbier apartment and began to count down the days until he died. He tried never to think about what had been. He tried never to remember what it'd been like to be eternally young and strong and handsome. He tried never to remember that he had once been a monster. He tried never to dwell on the fact that even when he'd been a monster, he'd tried to be a hero.
Everything he had been had changed when he'd Shanshued, and he'd tried his best to just forget it. But now here was Angel, walking beside him, carefully measuring his steps to match Spike's slow painful pace. Spike was aware of what Angel saw when he looked at him; an old man weak and helpless, poor and pitiful. He felt shame and anger that Angel, still tall and handsome and eternally young, saw him like this.
They at last reached Spike's apartment building and the old man led the way in, shucking off his jacket and hanging it on a hook by the door. Angel stood in the doorway and shook his head.
"Never was one for interior decorating, were you?" he mocked glancing around the tiny room. An old sofa covered in worn beige upholstery stood against one wall. An equally ancient club chair sat at the perfect angle to view the small vid screen that hung on another wall. A film of dust covered the two end tables, coffee table, and small bookcase that were the only other pieces of furniture in the room. A couple cheap prints hung on the walls and thin curtains covered the dirty windows.
"Yeah, I was once," Spike answered. "Had a crypt I'd decorated real nice in Sunnydale. Slayer called it cozy." He smirked at bit at the frown the mention of the Slayer caused.
"Don't get your knickers in a twist, Angel," he said as he slowly lowered himself into his favorite chair and set aside his cane. "I never saw her again after that time in Rome."
Angel sighed and sank down into the couch, legs splayed and his hands resting on his thighs. "Yeah, I know. She's back in heaven now."
Spike swallowed and nodded. "Good. She's happy again then."
They were silent for a bit, lost in their own thoughts until Spike cleared his throat and asked, "Just exactly what do you want, Angel?"
Angel leaned forward and clasped his hands together and looked at Spike with intensity in his dark eyes. "Like I said, there's an imbalance in the world right now, and we need to try to fix it."
"And like I said, why come to me with this problem? Not much I can do to help even if I wanted to, which, by the way, I don't."
Angel raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Since when do you turn down the chance to get into a fight?"
"Since I became a sodding human again," Spike snapped. "I'm sure you remember that I wasn't robust when I was alive the first time, and the Shanshu did nothing to change that. I was weak fifty years ago, and I'm old and even weaker now. So there's nothing I can do to help. Go find someone else to pester." He sank back in his chair, exhausted by so many words and the emotions roiling up within him. Emotions he hadn't felt in so long he'd forgotten they even existed.
"There is no one else, Spike," Angel insisted.
Spike snorted and then pulled out an old handkerchief and blew his nose. Giving his nose a good wipe, he returned the cloth to his sweater pocket and glared at Angel. "Forgot about the army of Slayers, have you?"
"There is no army of Slayers," Angel told him, his voice soft and sad. "Not anymore."
Spike frowned. "What do you mean? Of course there is. I was there when Willow and Buffy and Faith did the mojo that shared out the Slayer power."
"Yes, and when they did that, they destroyed the mystical force that called new Slayers. No new Slayer has been called since then, and the last Slayer died over a month ago."
Spike gaped at him. He'd had no idea. He'd deliberately distanced himself from all things supernatural, and it had never occurred to him that the line of Slayers would end with the Potentials that had been called from Sunnydale.
Angel was studying him carefully and nodded in apparent approval at Spike's reaction.
"You can see now why we have an imbalance."
"Yeah, I can. But again, I don't see how I can help."
"You're the last link we have, Spike. The last Hero, the last Champion."
"I'm an old man who's going to kick it any day now." Spike stated flatly.
"You're not going to kick it, not if you come with me."
Spike stiffened. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying I'm offering you the opportunity to be young and immortal again."
"How? By taking me back in time? Making me a vampire again?"
"I thought you liked being a vampire."
"If you think I'm going to agree to be evil again-"
"You can't be a Champion if you're evil, Spike," Angel interrupted.
Spike snorted. "Maybe you can't, but I bloody well could if I wanted to."
Angel rolled his eyes. "Dream on. Anyway, I promise you, you'll still have your soul."
Spike looked at him and then narrowed his eyes. He may not be able to see as clearly as he once could, but he knew Angel well enough to know that his grandsire wasn't telling him everything."
"What's the catch?"
"No catch. Well, except you'll be expected to act as the agent of The Powers That Be. You'll fight demons and vampires and save humanity. You'll be their Champion, just as I was."
Spike looked off into the middle distance, considering Angel's words. So, once again he'd have the chance to walk in Angel's footsteps would he? Once again, he'd follow along behind trying to be everything Angel was.
"No."
"No?" Spike smirked inwardly at the surprise in Angel's voice.
"No. I'm tired of trotting along in your oversized footprints. I've had fifty years to get over my need to outdo you. I'm ready to slough off this mortal coil, so you can take your offer and get out now. It's my bedtime."
"Wolfram and Hart are coming back, Spike," Angel said softly.
Spike looked at him sharply. "I thought we kicked them out of this plane for good."
Angel shook his head. "When the last of the Slayers died, it gave them the opening they've been waiting for to get a foothold here again."
"Well, they're your problem, Angel. You fought against them and defeated them once, you can do it again. You can just go back to being the bloody Champion and leave me out of it."
He struggled to get up from his chair. Angel rose to his feet with a fluidity that seemed to mock Spike's struggles.
"I tried to warn them," Angel said, disgust evident in his voice.
Spike finally stood upright, breathing in great gasps of air as he recovered from his exertion.
"Warn who?" he wheezed.
"The Powers That Be," Angel said, moving to the door. "I told them that they were making a mistake thinking that you were really Champion material."
"What do you mean," Spike snapped. "I am a bloody Champion. I died saving the world from The First Evil, and I stood by your side in that alley fighting those demon hoards sent by the Senior Partners." He grabbed up his cane and took a step forward.
"And before that," he continued, pointing a shaking finger at Angel, "before I even had my sodding soul, I fought by the Slayer's side against a god, you bastard. I was evil, and yet I fought by the Slayer's side."
"Because you thought you were in love," Angel sneered. "You've never done anything just because it was the right thing to do. It was always to try to get someone to love you. First Buffy and then..."
"And then you?" Spike said stiffly.
"Yeah, and then me. But you don't have it in you to be a Champion without reward, do you?"
"And what do you call this bloody Shanshu that I was saddled with? Wasn't that the reward you were fighting for?"
"I was fighting for redemption, Spike. And because someone had to stand between mankind and the forces of evil."
"Oh, hoo bloody rah. Well, you can just take up your hero's gauntlet and get back in the game. You don't need me."
Angel took a step toward him, anger suffusing his face. "Don't you think I would if I could? There's nothing I want more than..." He stopped and took in a calming breath before continuing, "But I can't, Spike. It's either you become the Champion or this plane of existence is lost to the demons that are coming."
"Why can't you? You saying you're no longer a vampire with a soul?"
"I'm saying I'm no longer alive."
"Yeah, well vampires aren't, are they? Not technically."
Angel sighed. "I'm only here for a short time, Spike, to try to convince you to accept The Powers' offer. Then I go back to..." He cut himself off, not finishing the sentence.
"Back to where?" Spike asked, feeling an unwanted sense of dread.
"It doesn't matter." Angel said. "Look, Spike, just give what I've offered some thought, okay? Don't make up your mind yet. I'll be back tomorrow." With that, he opened the door and left.
Spike stood looking at the door for a few minutes and then limped over and locked it. Frowning, he made his way to the bathroom and began to prepare for bed. He wasn't going to think about it, he thought fiercely. They'd just have to find another Champion.
When Angel didn't show up the next day, Spike decided that The Powers That Be had taken him at his word that he wasn't interested in their offer, and so he made his way to the diner a little later than normal. When the waitress came with his hot water and teabag, she asked, "Where's your friend?"
Spike scowled at her and asked testily, "What are the soups today?"
She frowned at him but answered, "Minestrone and Cream of Tomato."
"Tomato," Spike said shortly, pulling his cup of hot water nearer. The girl left and Spike fixed his tea. He tensed a bit when the chair opposite him was pulled out a few minutes later.
"Have you given my offer some thought?"
Spike didn't look up. Blowing on his tea before taking a sip, he said, "No. Gave you my answer, didn't I?"
He heard Angel draw in a breath of air, but before he could speak, the waitress was there with a cup and a pot of coffee. "Coffee?" she asked flashing Angel a blinding smile.
"Sure," Angel said, never taking his eyes from Spike. The waitress poured the coffee and left, giving Angel another disappointed glance. They didn't speak again while Spike ate but, much to Spike's annoyance, Angel didn't leave either, just sat there drinking his coffee and flirting with the waitress. When Spike had finished his soup, Angel again grabbed the check while Spike struggled to rise.
It was full dark and a cold breeze was blowing by the time they left the diner. Angel walked beside Spike, still not speaking. They were almost at Spike's front door when a scream pierced the air. Spike's head went up and he glanced around trying to locate the sound.
"It's coming from there," Angel said, pointing to an alley several houses up the street.
"Well don't just stand there, you great lummox," Spike snapped. "Get up there and see what's wrong."
"I can't," Angel said in a quiet voice.
"What do you mean, you can't. You're here, aren't you? You're solid. Go help the lady."
"I can't, Spike," Angel ground out in frustration.
Spike could still hear the girl crying, and he shot Angel an infuriated look and began to hobble up the street. "Well if you won't help her..."
He hadn't gotten more than two steps when a hand shot out, grabbing his arm and stopping him. Spike tried to wrench his arm out of Angel's grasp, but couldn't break the tight hold Angel had on his arm.
"You can't help her either, Spike. Not like you are now. You'll only get yourself killed."
"Then do something!" Spike yelled. He couldn't hear the girl any longer.
"I can't!" Angel said. "I'm only allowed to do certain things while I'm here, and saving people isn't one of them."
Spike heard the bitterness in Angel's voice. Frowning he said, "Then let's just go see if there's anything I can do, shall we?"
Angel opened his mouth to argue, but closed it again and followed Spike up the street. The girl was dead, of course. She looked to be about seventeen or eighteen, young, dark-haired and pretty. And it didn't take a medical examiner to know that she had died of exsanguination. Angel knelt beside the body and turned the head slightly.
"Vampire," he said simply.
"Never seen or heard of a vampire in this neighborhood before," Spike said, shaking his head sadly. "In fact, haven't heard of vampires at all for years now."
"That's because the Slayers almost had them wiped out," Angel answered standing back up. "But they're gone now, and there's no one left to hold back the night."
Spike turned away from him and slowly walked back out of the alley. He'd call the police and report the murder - not that it'd do much good - but that was it. That was going to be the last of his involvement.
Angel followed along behind and once they were back in Spike's apartment, Spike called in the report. Hanging up he turned to Angel. "You should go. I'll tell them I heard something and went to investigate. An old man like me, there won't be any suspicion I know anything more than I'm telling them."
Angel shook his head. "If I go tonight without you, then it's over. The Powers That Be won't call another Champion. The vampires and demons will gain strength and open the way for the return of the Senior Partners."
Spike turned away and tried to block out Angel's words, but he could still see the girl's dead body lying on the ground, could still smell the scent of fresh blood in the air, could almost taste the coppery fluid on his tongue. He shuddered and made his way across the room until he was standing at the window watching as the police pulled up, lights flashing.
"You're a bastard, Angel," he said tiredly.
"Does this mean you're coming with me?"
"No choice, is there?" Spike asked turning back around. He was so tired. He'd just wanted to live out his few remaining days in peace, but he couldn't deny the impotent rage he'd felt when looking at the girl's body. If he'd been young and strong, she'd still be alive. "What do we do?"
"I have to make arrangements," Angel said. "I'll be back to pick you up at eleven forty-five." He turned to open the door and then stopped. "And Spike? If there's anything here you want to keep, bring it with you. You won't be coming back here." With that, he opened the door and stepped out of the apartment.
Spike dealt with the police and then went into his bedroom. He looked around, but really there wasn't anything here he needed. Sighing, he lay down on the bed and closed his eyes. There were still a couple hours until Angel would return so he may as well rest until then.
Angel returned at eleven forty-five exactly as he'd said and the two men left the apartment. A sleek black car stood at the curb waiting for them. Angel helped Spike into the passenger seat and hurried around to the driver's seat. The car started with an almost silent purr and they drove off down the street.
"Where are you taking me?"
"To the Oracles. They speak directly for The Powers That Be here on Earth. They're the ones who'll perform the ritual that will make you young and strong again."
"And what about you? What happens to you after you deliver me?"
"I go back."
"To what? Your eternal reward?"
Angel was silent for a few minutes and Spike began to think that he wasn't going to answer his question, but at last he said, "Something like that."
"'Something like that' being not so much a reward?"
Angel's hands tightened on the steering wheel. "I'm getting what I deserved, Spike. I screwed up and I'm-"
"What? Being punished for shoving Wolfram and Hart out of this realm?" Spike scoffed. "Because if that's true, than your Powers That Be are even bigger gits than I thought. You're a Hero and Champion too, you know. Seems to me you deserve to be treated as such."
Angel glanced over at him in surprise, and then a small smile appeared. "Thanks." He turned his attention back to the road and a few minutes later, they pulled in behind an old, closed down bowling alley.
"Why are we stopping here?"
"Because this is where the Oracles are," Angel answered, getting out of the car.
Spike just stared for a minute and then when Angel opened the passenger side door to help him out of the car said, "You telling me The Powers That Be can't afford better digs than this for their Oracles?"
Angel just smiled and led him to the back door. Instead of knocking or simply opening the door, Angel said aloud, "We're here." Spike looked at him with one eyebrow raised and then a sense of vertigo overcame him. He reached out and grasped Angel's arm, and when the vertigo passed, they were no longer standing in front of the back door of a dilapidated building.
Spike looked around and felt a bit of awe in spite of himself. It'd been a long time since he'd been involved in the mystical, and the temple-like room and the beings that stood within reeked of otherworldliness.
"Welcome, William," the female of the two beings said.
Spike peered at her curiously. She was dressed in a toga-like gown and her blonde hair was piled high on her head in intricate curls. She looked human except for the fact that her bronze-colored skin shimmered as if she'd been dunked in a vat of glitter. Her male counterpart matched her with the exception of short-trimmed hair that lay in curly profusion around his head. They both wore laurel wreathes in their hair.
"The Powers are pleased you have decided to accept their offer," she continued, bringing Spike's attention back to her.
"Didn't say I did," Spike answered.
"What?" Angel said in surprise. "That's why we came here, Spike. I thought you understood that."
"Yeah, I did," Spike answered smugly. "Thing is, I want a bit more information before I sign away my soul to the Powers."
"It's not signing-," Angel began.
"Yeah, that's exactly what it is, Angel, and you know it," Spike interrupted. Turning back to the Oracles, he continued. "Now, first off, am I going to have any help in this little crusade to protect this world from the things that go bump in the night, or do I have to go it alone?"
"You will be provided with a Seer that will be your link to the Powers."
Spike was resting heavily on his cane, weariness almost overcoming him, and he said, "Look, can we sit down for a bit? I'm not exactly young yet, you know."
The Oracles nodded and a chair suddenly appeared behind Spike. Angel helped him sit and then stood silently beside him. Spike rested for a minute, catching his breath again, and then looked back up at the Oracles.
"Okay, so I get a Seer." He looked up at Angel. "That's what what's-her-name, Cordelia, was, isn't it? Your Seer?"
Angel's jaw clenched slightly and he gave a curt nod.
"Okay, so I get a Seer. Anyone I know?"
"No. The Seer will be sent to you tonight after the transformation ritual is complete."
"All right. So, I get a Seer. Anyone else?"
"You may, of course, recruit anyone else you wish into the cause. We cannot guarantee their safety anymore that we can guarantee yours, but it is allowed."
"I can pick anyone I want?"
Both Oracles nodded. "If they are willing to join you."
Spike sat back in the chair, a feeling of triumph filling him.
"Fine then. I'll do it, provided Angel is part of my team."
The Oracles stared at him in shock. "This is not permitted. Angel must complete his punishment for starting an apocalypse that could have destroyed the world."
Spike leaned forward again, his eyes narrowing. "Angel took out the Black Thorn and chased the Senior Partners off this realm. For nearly fifty years, we've been free from their influence because of him, and if Buffy and Willow hadn't messed up the mojo for calling the Slayers, they'd still be gone, wouldn't they?"
The identical expressions on the face of the Oracles told Spike he was right. Sitting back again, Spike smiled in satisfaction. "You lot are just mad he didn't follow your timetable; didn't play completely by your rules." He sat forward again, his eyes hard. "Well, if you think I'll play by your sodding rules, you've got the wrong Champion. In fact, Angel's more likely to follow the rules than I am."
He sat back again. "So, if you want me to play nice, you need him with me, help keep me in line. I have a rather impulsive nature, you know."
The Oracles' faces were hard and angry, but Spike knew he had them over a barrel. If it was as important as Angel said for the Powers to have a Champion, and if Spike was the last one they could call, he had bargaining power. And he'd be damned if he was going to allow Angel to go back to whatever Hell the Powers had picked out for him.
Spike could sense the tension radiating off Angel, but he deliberately kept his eyes on the Oracles. It looked as if they were communing with someone or something. After a few minutes, their eyes cleared and they looked at Spike.
"The Powers That Be are not happy with your demands. They say that if you insist on these terms, we will not transform you, and the Earth will be without a Champion."
"No," Angel cried out in protest, and Spike was shocked at the words. He'd really expected the Powers to agree. Was it really more important to punish Angel than to protect the humans of this dimension? And then he had his answer. Of course, it wasn't. Spike had played enough poker in his life to recognize a bluff.
"That's too bad," he said, struggling to stand up.
"Spike, you can't go," Angel said, turning to Spike and placing his hand on his arm, stopping him. "Look, it doesn't matter what happens to me. You need to be the Champion."
"No, Angel, I really don't. They, on the other hand, need me to be their Champion. And if they'd rather let the Senior Partners take over here because they've got a hard-on for you, then that's their decision. And a bloody piss-poor one it is too"
He glanced at the Oracles and saw the same angry, frustrated expression he'd seen earlier. Their eyes went unfocused again, and Spike sat back and waited.
"Spike," Angel began forcefully. "Don't do this. Take their offer. It's too important-"
"Shut up, you git," Spike hissed. "I've lost everyone that means anything to me. But I can get you back."
He looked up at Angel, his faded blue eyes intent. "I'm not doing this alone. I've been alone too long."
Angel looked back, and a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "You know we'll drive each other crazy."
"You know we'll have fun doing it," Spike countered with a smirk.
"Very well," the Oracles spoke together.
"The Powers That Be will allow you this boon," the female continued. "Be aware, however, that you may not come here again to ask for aid. It will not be given."
Once again, Spike struggled to stand, and Angel reached out and helped him up. "Fair enough." The chair that had stood behind him disappeared and Spike said, "I'm ready."
The female went over to a marble column that stood waist high and picked up a bowl that Spike hadn't noticed being there before. She returned to join her male counterpart and together they moved to stand before Spike. They dipped their fingers in a thick unguent that filled the bowl half-way and reached out toward Spike's forehead. He suddenly stepped back, startling them.
"One more thing," he said.
Their fingers froze in mid-air.
"No Shanshu," Spike said. "When this is all over, I don't want another Shanshu. Just let me die."
"Agreed," they said. They waited a few seconds to see if Spike had any other demands and then they touched their fingers to Spike's face, tracing signs and symbols on his forehead, cheeks, and chin, and chanting in a strange language. Spike couldn't understand what they were saying, but he could feel something happening, and for once there wasn't any pain involved. In fact, pain was leaving his body. His joints and back stopped hurting and Spike was able to stand upright for the first time in years. His eyesight began to clear, and when he whipped off the thick glasses, he saw everything with a sharpness he'd forgotten. His breath left his body and his heart stopped beating, but he felt alive for the first time in decades. Preternatural strength filled his body, and Spike felt like howling in glee.
He was strong.
He was whole.
He was Spike.
The Oracles stepped back and bowed before him. "Behold, the Champion," they intoned.
"Right," Spike said as he checked out his body. "Don't supposed you lot have any decent clothes lying about, do you? Can't go out saving the world dressed in these rags, now can I?"
Angel, who had been quiet throughout the ritual, said, "I have some stuff in the trunk of the car. The car is yours as well as an apartment I rented in your name."
"Yeah? Nice perks. Do I get paid, too?"
Angel grinned. "Nope. You should have negotiated for a paycheck instead of for me."
"Please, you probably still have a fortune of ill-gotten gains stashed away somewhere. We'll use that."
"Spike," Angel said in a warning tone of voice, but Spike just smirked at him and turned to the Oracles, jabbing a thumb in Angel's direction.
"All right, now do him. And make sure his soul stays attached this time."
There was a slight hesitation, and then, clearly against their will, the two stepped forward and laid hands on Angel. When they stepped back, they said, "He is now of this world again."
Angel smiled, and Spike grinned back. "Spike and Angelus, back and better than ever," Spike joked.
"That's Angelus and Spike," Angel said with a grin.
"Now, look," Spike said, stepping up to Angel and poking a finger into his chest. "I'm the Champion this go around, so I get top billing."
Angel opened his mouth to retort when the feeling of vertigo swept over them. When it cleared, they were back outside the old bowling alley. Spike looked around and smirked. "Looks like we overstayed our welcome." He turned to Angel again. "You said something about clothes?"
Angel nodded and led him to the back of the car. Opening the trunk, he took out a small bag and held it out. "Here. I didn't think you'd developed any more of a fashion sense than you had before so it's just jeans, a t-shirt and a pair of boots."
"No leather duster?" Spike grinned taking the bag and opening it up.
"Well," Angel said and reaching in, pulled out a large flat box.
Spike finished changing and opened the box. Inside was a well-worn leather coat. "Where'd you get it?" Spike asked almost reverently as he took it out of the box and shook it out. Slipping it on, he felt as if his transformation was finally complete.
"Found it in a used clothing store. Looked like your old one, so I bought it."
"Yeah," Spike said, running his hands over the leather. Angel tossed the empty box back in the trunk and slammed down the lid. He headed for the driver's side of the car, but Spike reached out and grabbed his arm.
"I'm the Champion; I get to drive."
Angel rolled his eyes, but tossed the keys to Spike. "You're going to rub the Champion thing in every chance you get, aren't you?"
Spike just smirked and opened the driver's side door. "Come on, Robin, get in. We've got a Seer to find and demon ass to kick."
Angel got in and said with a growl, "Just because you're batty, that doesn't make you Batman."
Spike laughed, started the car and pulled away with a squeal of tires.
Time to go have some fun.
The End
Title: The Last Champion
Author: Sandy
Word Count: ~6,800
Characters: Spike, Angel
Rated: R
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine. I only play with them once in a while.
Summary: Fifty years after the battle with Wolfram and Hart, Angel presents Spike with a decision that will change his life forever.
A/N: Although this fic is set fifty years in the future, I made no attempt to present a futuristic world. After all, the people of fifty years ago all thought we'd be living on Mars and driving flying cars. :)
Many thanks to my wonderful beta, avidrosette. Her insights and suggestions are always spot-on. And she catches all the pesky little spelling and grammatical errors, too!
The old man exited his cramped, dusty apartment, limped to the front door, and cautiously descended the outside steps, clutching the hand rail and using his cane for balance. When he finally reached the sidewalk he made his way slowly up the block taking extra caution as dusk settled in. He made the same trip at the same time every day, rain or shine, winter or summer. He'd done so for the past five years.
When he reached the diner, he entered and immediately went to the small table at the back that he'd claimed as his own. Taking a seat, he slipped out of his old, worn jacket and waited patiently for the waitress to come over to take his order.
"We have vegetarian vegetable or cream of potato today," a light feminine voice said, setting down a cup of hot water and a tea bag in front of him.
He opened the teabag and said, "Potato," without looking up.
"Okay," she said and walked away.
It was the same thing every day, a cup of tea and a bowl of the soup of the day. He didn't have much appetite anymore, which worked out nicely since he didn't have much money either.
He finished fixing his tea and took a sip watching the other people in the diner as they ate and talked or read newspapers. Nobody was very distinct because his eyes had dimmed with age and cataracts were forming in the once bright blue eyes. The thick glasses he'd been reduced to wearing did little to sharpen his vision.
His soup came and he picked up the spoon with stiff fingers and scooped a bit up, blowing on it to cool it before taking a sip. He supposed it was good. He couldn't tell really. His taste buds were as dull as his eyesight. Once upon a time he'd solved the problem of dull taste buds with spicy food - hot chicken wings and barbecue potato chips and pizza piled high with extra pepperoni and hot peppers - but that was a long time ago and his stomach wouldn't allow him to eat such things any more. His meals now consisted of oatmeal and soft boiled eggs and endless bowls of soup.
He hoped he would die soon.
His attention was on his meal and he looked up in surprise when the chair on the opposite side of the table was pulled out and someone sat down. His eyes widened and his hand shook when he saw what had taken a seat across from him. Swallowing, he forced himself to lower his eyes and ignore the specter.
"What, no hellos? No curses? No 'what the hell are you doing here?'" the thing asked in a mocking voice.
The old man's hand trembled again, but he kept his focus on his soup. He may be finally going 'round the bend, but he wasn't going to make a scene in a public place. He had that much pride left anyway.
He glanced up in surprise again when the waitress came over to his table and said, "Do you need a menu?"
She was talking to the apparition.
"You can see him?" the old man asked in astonishment.
His visitor laughed and said teasingly to the waitress, "He thinks he's seeing things."
The waitress gave the old man a cautious look and sidled away from him a bit. The other man smirked and said, "Just bring me a cup of coffee, okay?"
She nodded and scurried away. The old man stared at the other. "I thought you were dead. Fifty years dead."
"Yeah, well, Spike, you know how it is with our crowd. We never seem to be able to stay dead."
The old man looked back down at his rapidly cooling soup. "Not Spike anymore, you know."
The other man smirked. "Yeah, I can see that. So, how's that Shanshu working out for you?"
"Fuck you, Angel," the old man snapped, glaring angrily at his companion.
Angel laughed. "Now you're Spike again."
The waitress came and placed the cup of coffee in front of Angel and hovered for a minute, eyes showing appreciation for the tall, dark-haired stranger. Spike rolled his eyes and determinedly went back to eating his tepid soup.
"Can I get you anything else?" the girl asked.
"This'll do, thanks," Angel said dismissively.
She looked disappointed but nodded and left the table again.
"Why are you here, bothering me?" Spike asked, curious in spite of himself.
Angel poured sugar into his coffee and stirred it, taking his time before answering. Looking back up at Spike he said, "There's an imbalance in the world, and we need to fix it."
Spike looked at him incredulously. "We? You think I can help? Look at me. Thanks to that bloody Shanshu, I'm old." Leaning forward he hissed, "This should be you, not me."
"You're right, it should be," Angel sighed picking up his cup and taking a drink. He looked at Spike with sad, compassionate eyes. "The Powers That Be want to rectify things."
Spike scoffed and took another drink of tea, made a face at the cold, bitter brew, and pushed his cup aside. "You expect me to believe The Powers That Be give a donkey's dick about me?"
Angel's lip curled in a small smile. "Actually, they do, whether or not you believe it. You're a hero and a champion, and that counts in their book. But the Shanshu was never meant for anyone but me. When I signed it away, it settled by default on you after the defeat of the Senior Partners."
"What do you mean, you signed it away?" Spike asked in astonishment. "When?"
His voice had become a little loud and Angel looked around with a frown. "Keep your voice down. Look, can we go somewhere more private to talk?"
Spike narrowed his eyes. "I'm not so sure I want to talk with you or get involved in whatever you came here for. I'm old and I'm tired and I'm ready to die, and it can't happen any too soon for me."
"Bullshit," Angle said mildly. "I know you better than that, William." He stopped as the waitress returned to the table with the coffee pot.
"Refill?"
"No, we're leaving. Can I have the check, please?" Angel answered reaching for his wallet.
The waitress looked disappointed again, but nodded and went away to prepare the bill.
"I didn't say I'd leave with you," Spike said querulously.
Angel ignored him and took the check from the waitress. Glancing at it, he took a bill from his wallet and handed it to her. "Keep the change."
Her eyes widened when she realized the size of the tip he was giving her and gave him a blinding smile. "Thanks!"
"When did you become a big tipper?"
"You wound me, Spike. I've always been generous," he said with a smirk as he reached out a hand and helped Spike to stand. Spike shrugged off Angel's hand as soon as he had his balance, slipped back into his coat, and began to limp away from the table.
"You've always been a right cheap bastard, and you know it," he retorted. He could hear Angel chuckling behind him.
They walked back to Spike's apartment, Angel modifying his gait to match the much slower pace of the elderly Spike. Spike didn't speak to his companion, too filled with the memories of the past fifty years.
After the fight with the demons sent by the Senior Partners, he and Illyria had been the only ones left standing. He'd seen Angel burned to dust in the blast of the dragon's flame, while Gunn had breathed his last fifteen minutes into the fight. Spike always believed he lasted that extra five minutes just to spite Illyria's prediction of ten minutes.
Once Angel was gone, the demons disappeared. Illyria had believed that after the destruction of the Black Thorn, their ties to this plane had centered on Angel.
"Then why kill him?" Spike had asked, wiping the rain - and that was all it was, he'd insisted to himself - out of his eyes. "If Angel kept them here, why take him out?"
"I am not sure," Illyria had answered indifferently. "But I believe that as long as he was here, they would be tied to this plane and yet impotent. It would be better to be gone completely."
Spike had nodded, forcing the grief he felt for the death of his friends and Angel down and away. There would be time to mourn later, when he was alone. Now was the time to figure out what to do next. Illyria and Spike stood together in the pouring rain, and Spike had just turned to ask her what she thought their next move should be when a searing pain flashed through his body. He collapsed in agony, and when the pain finally subsided, he was human again.
When the shock had finally worn off, he realized that his new state put him in a very precarious position. He had no identification, no money, and no friends unless he counted Illyria, which he probably shouldn't. Having no idea what else to do, he'd broken down and called Giles. The Watcher had been amazed to hear from him, not having known he was alive. Apparently young Andrew had actually kept his secret. When Spike had explained his predicament, Giles had agreed to help him on one condition: Buffy must never know that he was alive and that he was human. It hadn't taken much thought for Spike to agree. As a human he felt he would be useless to her as a warrior and as far as their personal relationship went, well, she'd moved on, hadn't she? And, truth to tell, so had he. He'd made his restitution to her, died for her, and it was better to just let her continue to believe him dead.
Giles was true to his word, and within a week Spike had papers and a bit of cash to tide him over until he could get himself settled. Illyria had surprised him by sticking around for a bit, but then one morning he'd awakened to find she was gone. He never saw or heard from her again.
It was hard at first being completely alone like that, but eventually he got himself sorted out. He found a new apartment and got a job working as a classic car mechanic. He made a few casual friends and occasionally dated, though he never fell in love with any of them. They were all nice enough girls, but Spike had gotten too used to extraordinary to settle for just nice.
He'd found it surprisingly easy to stay away from demon killing. His one and only foray into it had nearly gotten him killed. Besides, with Wolfram and Hart out of the picture, demon activity had fallen dramatically. The four Slayers assigned to the Greater Los Angeles area were more than enough to handle the demons and vamps that were left.
And so the years passed, and if he missed his other life, he pretended he didn't. His only concession to his old life was the poetry he still occasionally wrote. Five years ago, he'd finally retired on a tiny pension and Social Security. He moved from his small and shabby apartment to an even smaller and shabbier apartment and began to count down the days until he died. He tried never to think about what had been. He tried never to remember what it'd been like to be eternally young and strong and handsome. He tried never to remember that he had once been a monster. He tried never to dwell on the fact that even when he'd been a monster, he'd tried to be a hero.
Everything he had been had changed when he'd Shanshued, and he'd tried his best to just forget it. But now here was Angel, walking beside him, carefully measuring his steps to match Spike's slow painful pace. Spike was aware of what Angel saw when he looked at him; an old man weak and helpless, poor and pitiful. He felt shame and anger that Angel, still tall and handsome and eternally young, saw him like this.
They at last reached Spike's apartment building and the old man led the way in, shucking off his jacket and hanging it on a hook by the door. Angel stood in the doorway and shook his head.
"Never was one for interior decorating, were you?" he mocked glancing around the tiny room. An old sofa covered in worn beige upholstery stood against one wall. An equally ancient club chair sat at the perfect angle to view the small vid screen that hung on another wall. A film of dust covered the two end tables, coffee table, and small bookcase that were the only other pieces of furniture in the room. A couple cheap prints hung on the walls and thin curtains covered the dirty windows.
"Yeah, I was once," Spike answered. "Had a crypt I'd decorated real nice in Sunnydale. Slayer called it cozy." He smirked at bit at the frown the mention of the Slayer caused.
"Don't get your knickers in a twist, Angel," he said as he slowly lowered himself into his favorite chair and set aside his cane. "I never saw her again after that time in Rome."
Angel sighed and sank down into the couch, legs splayed and his hands resting on his thighs. "Yeah, I know. She's back in heaven now."
Spike swallowed and nodded. "Good. She's happy again then."
They were silent for a bit, lost in their own thoughts until Spike cleared his throat and asked, "Just exactly what do you want, Angel?"
Angel leaned forward and clasped his hands together and looked at Spike with intensity in his dark eyes. "Like I said, there's an imbalance in the world right now, and we need to try to fix it."
"And like I said, why come to me with this problem? Not much I can do to help even if I wanted to, which, by the way, I don't."
Angel raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Since when do you turn down the chance to get into a fight?"
"Since I became a sodding human again," Spike snapped. "I'm sure you remember that I wasn't robust when I was alive the first time, and the Shanshu did nothing to change that. I was weak fifty years ago, and I'm old and even weaker now. So there's nothing I can do to help. Go find someone else to pester." He sank back in his chair, exhausted by so many words and the emotions roiling up within him. Emotions he hadn't felt in so long he'd forgotten they even existed.
"There is no one else, Spike," Angel insisted.
Spike snorted and then pulled out an old handkerchief and blew his nose. Giving his nose a good wipe, he returned the cloth to his sweater pocket and glared at Angel. "Forgot about the army of Slayers, have you?"
"There is no army of Slayers," Angel told him, his voice soft and sad. "Not anymore."
Spike frowned. "What do you mean? Of course there is. I was there when Willow and Buffy and Faith did the mojo that shared out the Slayer power."
"Yes, and when they did that, they destroyed the mystical force that called new Slayers. No new Slayer has been called since then, and the last Slayer died over a month ago."
Spike gaped at him. He'd had no idea. He'd deliberately distanced himself from all things supernatural, and it had never occurred to him that the line of Slayers would end with the Potentials that had been called from Sunnydale.
Angel was studying him carefully and nodded in apparent approval at Spike's reaction.
"You can see now why we have an imbalance."
"Yeah, I can. But again, I don't see how I can help."
"You're the last link we have, Spike. The last Hero, the last Champion."
"I'm an old man who's going to kick it any day now." Spike stated flatly.
"You're not going to kick it, not if you come with me."
Spike stiffened. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying I'm offering you the opportunity to be young and immortal again."
"How? By taking me back in time? Making me a vampire again?"
"I thought you liked being a vampire."
"If you think I'm going to agree to be evil again-"
"You can't be a Champion if you're evil, Spike," Angel interrupted.
Spike snorted. "Maybe you can't, but I bloody well could if I wanted to."
Angel rolled his eyes. "Dream on. Anyway, I promise you, you'll still have your soul."
Spike looked at him and then narrowed his eyes. He may not be able to see as clearly as he once could, but he knew Angel well enough to know that his grandsire wasn't telling him everything."
"What's the catch?"
"No catch. Well, except you'll be expected to act as the agent of The Powers That Be. You'll fight demons and vampires and save humanity. You'll be their Champion, just as I was."
Spike looked off into the middle distance, considering Angel's words. So, once again he'd have the chance to walk in Angel's footsteps would he? Once again, he'd follow along behind trying to be everything Angel was.
"No."
"No?" Spike smirked inwardly at the surprise in Angel's voice.
"No. I'm tired of trotting along in your oversized footprints. I've had fifty years to get over my need to outdo you. I'm ready to slough off this mortal coil, so you can take your offer and get out now. It's my bedtime."
"Wolfram and Hart are coming back, Spike," Angel said softly.
Spike looked at him sharply. "I thought we kicked them out of this plane for good."
Angel shook his head. "When the last of the Slayers died, it gave them the opening they've been waiting for to get a foothold here again."
"Well, they're your problem, Angel. You fought against them and defeated them once, you can do it again. You can just go back to being the bloody Champion and leave me out of it."
He struggled to get up from his chair. Angel rose to his feet with a fluidity that seemed to mock Spike's struggles.
"I tried to warn them," Angel said, disgust evident in his voice.
Spike finally stood upright, breathing in great gasps of air as he recovered from his exertion.
"Warn who?" he wheezed.
"The Powers That Be," Angel said, moving to the door. "I told them that they were making a mistake thinking that you were really Champion material."
"What do you mean," Spike snapped. "I am a bloody Champion. I died saving the world from The First Evil, and I stood by your side in that alley fighting those demon hoards sent by the Senior Partners." He grabbed up his cane and took a step forward.
"And before that," he continued, pointing a shaking finger at Angel, "before I even had my sodding soul, I fought by the Slayer's side against a god, you bastard. I was evil, and yet I fought by the Slayer's side."
"Because you thought you were in love," Angel sneered. "You've never done anything just because it was the right thing to do. It was always to try to get someone to love you. First Buffy and then..."
"And then you?" Spike said stiffly.
"Yeah, and then me. But you don't have it in you to be a Champion without reward, do you?"
"And what do you call this bloody Shanshu that I was saddled with? Wasn't that the reward you were fighting for?"
"I was fighting for redemption, Spike. And because someone had to stand between mankind and the forces of evil."
"Oh, hoo bloody rah. Well, you can just take up your hero's gauntlet and get back in the game. You don't need me."
Angel took a step toward him, anger suffusing his face. "Don't you think I would if I could? There's nothing I want more than..." He stopped and took in a calming breath before continuing, "But I can't, Spike. It's either you become the Champion or this plane of existence is lost to the demons that are coming."
"Why can't you? You saying you're no longer a vampire with a soul?"
"I'm saying I'm no longer alive."
"Yeah, well vampires aren't, are they? Not technically."
Angel sighed. "I'm only here for a short time, Spike, to try to convince you to accept The Powers' offer. Then I go back to..." He cut himself off, not finishing the sentence.
"Back to where?" Spike asked, feeling an unwanted sense of dread.
"It doesn't matter." Angel said. "Look, Spike, just give what I've offered some thought, okay? Don't make up your mind yet. I'll be back tomorrow." With that, he opened the door and left.
Spike stood looking at the door for a few minutes and then limped over and locked it. Frowning, he made his way to the bathroom and began to prepare for bed. He wasn't going to think about it, he thought fiercely. They'd just have to find another Champion.
When Angel didn't show up the next day, Spike decided that The Powers That Be had taken him at his word that he wasn't interested in their offer, and so he made his way to the diner a little later than normal. When the waitress came with his hot water and teabag, she asked, "Where's your friend?"
Spike scowled at her and asked testily, "What are the soups today?"
She frowned at him but answered, "Minestrone and Cream of Tomato."
"Tomato," Spike said shortly, pulling his cup of hot water nearer. The girl left and Spike fixed his tea. He tensed a bit when the chair opposite him was pulled out a few minutes later.
"Have you given my offer some thought?"
Spike didn't look up. Blowing on his tea before taking a sip, he said, "No. Gave you my answer, didn't I?"
He heard Angel draw in a breath of air, but before he could speak, the waitress was there with a cup and a pot of coffee. "Coffee?" she asked flashing Angel a blinding smile.
"Sure," Angel said, never taking his eyes from Spike. The waitress poured the coffee and left, giving Angel another disappointed glance. They didn't speak again while Spike ate but, much to Spike's annoyance, Angel didn't leave either, just sat there drinking his coffee and flirting with the waitress. When Spike had finished his soup, Angel again grabbed the check while Spike struggled to rise.
It was full dark and a cold breeze was blowing by the time they left the diner. Angel walked beside Spike, still not speaking. They were almost at Spike's front door when a scream pierced the air. Spike's head went up and he glanced around trying to locate the sound.
"It's coming from there," Angel said, pointing to an alley several houses up the street.
"Well don't just stand there, you great lummox," Spike snapped. "Get up there and see what's wrong."
"I can't," Angel said in a quiet voice.
"What do you mean, you can't. You're here, aren't you? You're solid. Go help the lady."
"I can't, Spike," Angel ground out in frustration.
Spike could still hear the girl crying, and he shot Angel an infuriated look and began to hobble up the street. "Well if you won't help her..."
He hadn't gotten more than two steps when a hand shot out, grabbing his arm and stopping him. Spike tried to wrench his arm out of Angel's grasp, but couldn't break the tight hold Angel had on his arm.
"You can't help her either, Spike. Not like you are now. You'll only get yourself killed."
"Then do something!" Spike yelled. He couldn't hear the girl any longer.
"I can't!" Angel said. "I'm only allowed to do certain things while I'm here, and saving people isn't one of them."
Spike heard the bitterness in Angel's voice. Frowning he said, "Then let's just go see if there's anything I can do, shall we?"
Angel opened his mouth to argue, but closed it again and followed Spike up the street. The girl was dead, of course. She looked to be about seventeen or eighteen, young, dark-haired and pretty. And it didn't take a medical examiner to know that she had died of exsanguination. Angel knelt beside the body and turned the head slightly.
"Vampire," he said simply.
"Never seen or heard of a vampire in this neighborhood before," Spike said, shaking his head sadly. "In fact, haven't heard of vampires at all for years now."
"That's because the Slayers almost had them wiped out," Angel answered standing back up. "But they're gone now, and there's no one left to hold back the night."
Spike turned away from him and slowly walked back out of the alley. He'd call the police and report the murder - not that it'd do much good - but that was it. That was going to be the last of his involvement.
Angel followed along behind and once they were back in Spike's apartment, Spike called in the report. Hanging up he turned to Angel. "You should go. I'll tell them I heard something and went to investigate. An old man like me, there won't be any suspicion I know anything more than I'm telling them."
Angel shook his head. "If I go tonight without you, then it's over. The Powers That Be won't call another Champion. The vampires and demons will gain strength and open the way for the return of the Senior Partners."
Spike turned away and tried to block out Angel's words, but he could still see the girl's dead body lying on the ground, could still smell the scent of fresh blood in the air, could almost taste the coppery fluid on his tongue. He shuddered and made his way across the room until he was standing at the window watching as the police pulled up, lights flashing.
"You're a bastard, Angel," he said tiredly.
"Does this mean you're coming with me?"
"No choice, is there?" Spike asked turning back around. He was so tired. He'd just wanted to live out his few remaining days in peace, but he couldn't deny the impotent rage he'd felt when looking at the girl's body. If he'd been young and strong, she'd still be alive. "What do we do?"
"I have to make arrangements," Angel said. "I'll be back to pick you up at eleven forty-five." He turned to open the door and then stopped. "And Spike? If there's anything here you want to keep, bring it with you. You won't be coming back here." With that, he opened the door and stepped out of the apartment.
Spike dealt with the police and then went into his bedroom. He looked around, but really there wasn't anything here he needed. Sighing, he lay down on the bed and closed his eyes. There were still a couple hours until Angel would return so he may as well rest until then.
Angel returned at eleven forty-five exactly as he'd said and the two men left the apartment. A sleek black car stood at the curb waiting for them. Angel helped Spike into the passenger seat and hurried around to the driver's seat. The car started with an almost silent purr and they drove off down the street.
"Where are you taking me?"
"To the Oracles. They speak directly for The Powers That Be here on Earth. They're the ones who'll perform the ritual that will make you young and strong again."
"And what about you? What happens to you after you deliver me?"
"I go back."
"To what? Your eternal reward?"
Angel was silent for a few minutes and Spike began to think that he wasn't going to answer his question, but at last he said, "Something like that."
"'Something like that' being not so much a reward?"
Angel's hands tightened on the steering wheel. "I'm getting what I deserved, Spike. I screwed up and I'm-"
"What? Being punished for shoving Wolfram and Hart out of this realm?" Spike scoffed. "Because if that's true, than your Powers That Be are even bigger gits than I thought. You're a Hero and Champion too, you know. Seems to me you deserve to be treated as such."
Angel glanced over at him in surprise, and then a small smile appeared. "Thanks." He turned his attention back to the road and a few minutes later, they pulled in behind an old, closed down bowling alley.
"Why are we stopping here?"
"Because this is where the Oracles are," Angel answered, getting out of the car.
Spike just stared for a minute and then when Angel opened the passenger side door to help him out of the car said, "You telling me The Powers That Be can't afford better digs than this for their Oracles?"
Angel just smiled and led him to the back door. Instead of knocking or simply opening the door, Angel said aloud, "We're here." Spike looked at him with one eyebrow raised and then a sense of vertigo overcame him. He reached out and grasped Angel's arm, and when the vertigo passed, they were no longer standing in front of the back door of a dilapidated building.
Spike looked around and felt a bit of awe in spite of himself. It'd been a long time since he'd been involved in the mystical, and the temple-like room and the beings that stood within reeked of otherworldliness.
"Welcome, William," the female of the two beings said.
Spike peered at her curiously. She was dressed in a toga-like gown and her blonde hair was piled high on her head in intricate curls. She looked human except for the fact that her bronze-colored skin shimmered as if she'd been dunked in a vat of glitter. Her male counterpart matched her with the exception of short-trimmed hair that lay in curly profusion around his head. They both wore laurel wreathes in their hair.
"The Powers are pleased you have decided to accept their offer," she continued, bringing Spike's attention back to her.
"Didn't say I did," Spike answered.
"What?" Angel said in surprise. "That's why we came here, Spike. I thought you understood that."
"Yeah, I did," Spike answered smugly. "Thing is, I want a bit more information before I sign away my soul to the Powers."
"It's not signing-," Angel began.
"Yeah, that's exactly what it is, Angel, and you know it," Spike interrupted. Turning back to the Oracles, he continued. "Now, first off, am I going to have any help in this little crusade to protect this world from the things that go bump in the night, or do I have to go it alone?"
"You will be provided with a Seer that will be your link to the Powers."
Spike was resting heavily on his cane, weariness almost overcoming him, and he said, "Look, can we sit down for a bit? I'm not exactly young yet, you know."
The Oracles nodded and a chair suddenly appeared behind Spike. Angel helped him sit and then stood silently beside him. Spike rested for a minute, catching his breath again, and then looked back up at the Oracles.
"Okay, so I get a Seer." He looked up at Angel. "That's what what's-her-name, Cordelia, was, isn't it? Your Seer?"
Angel's jaw clenched slightly and he gave a curt nod.
"Okay, so I get a Seer. Anyone I know?"
"No. The Seer will be sent to you tonight after the transformation ritual is complete."
"All right. So, I get a Seer. Anyone else?"
"You may, of course, recruit anyone else you wish into the cause. We cannot guarantee their safety anymore that we can guarantee yours, but it is allowed."
"I can pick anyone I want?"
Both Oracles nodded. "If they are willing to join you."
Spike sat back in the chair, a feeling of triumph filling him.
"Fine then. I'll do it, provided Angel is part of my team."
The Oracles stared at him in shock. "This is not permitted. Angel must complete his punishment for starting an apocalypse that could have destroyed the world."
Spike leaned forward again, his eyes narrowing. "Angel took out the Black Thorn and chased the Senior Partners off this realm. For nearly fifty years, we've been free from their influence because of him, and if Buffy and Willow hadn't messed up the mojo for calling the Slayers, they'd still be gone, wouldn't they?"
The identical expressions on the face of the Oracles told Spike he was right. Sitting back again, Spike smiled in satisfaction. "You lot are just mad he didn't follow your timetable; didn't play completely by your rules." He sat forward again, his eyes hard. "Well, if you think I'll play by your sodding rules, you've got the wrong Champion. In fact, Angel's more likely to follow the rules than I am."
He sat back again. "So, if you want me to play nice, you need him with me, help keep me in line. I have a rather impulsive nature, you know."
The Oracles' faces were hard and angry, but Spike knew he had them over a barrel. If it was as important as Angel said for the Powers to have a Champion, and if Spike was the last one they could call, he had bargaining power. And he'd be damned if he was going to allow Angel to go back to whatever Hell the Powers had picked out for him.
Spike could sense the tension radiating off Angel, but he deliberately kept his eyes on the Oracles. It looked as if they were communing with someone or something. After a few minutes, their eyes cleared and they looked at Spike.
"The Powers That Be are not happy with your demands. They say that if you insist on these terms, we will not transform you, and the Earth will be without a Champion."
"No," Angel cried out in protest, and Spike was shocked at the words. He'd really expected the Powers to agree. Was it really more important to punish Angel than to protect the humans of this dimension? And then he had his answer. Of course, it wasn't. Spike had played enough poker in his life to recognize a bluff.
"That's too bad," he said, struggling to stand up.
"Spike, you can't go," Angel said, turning to Spike and placing his hand on his arm, stopping him. "Look, it doesn't matter what happens to me. You need to be the Champion."
"No, Angel, I really don't. They, on the other hand, need me to be their Champion. And if they'd rather let the Senior Partners take over here because they've got a hard-on for you, then that's their decision. And a bloody piss-poor one it is too"
He glanced at the Oracles and saw the same angry, frustrated expression he'd seen earlier. Their eyes went unfocused again, and Spike sat back and waited.
"Spike," Angel began forcefully. "Don't do this. Take their offer. It's too important-"
"Shut up, you git," Spike hissed. "I've lost everyone that means anything to me. But I can get you back."
He looked up at Angel, his faded blue eyes intent. "I'm not doing this alone. I've been alone too long."
Angel looked back, and a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "You know we'll drive each other crazy."
"You know we'll have fun doing it," Spike countered with a smirk.
"Very well," the Oracles spoke together.
"The Powers That Be will allow you this boon," the female continued. "Be aware, however, that you may not come here again to ask for aid. It will not be given."
Once again, Spike struggled to stand, and Angel reached out and helped him up. "Fair enough." The chair that had stood behind him disappeared and Spike said, "I'm ready."
The female went over to a marble column that stood waist high and picked up a bowl that Spike hadn't noticed being there before. She returned to join her male counterpart and together they moved to stand before Spike. They dipped their fingers in a thick unguent that filled the bowl half-way and reached out toward Spike's forehead. He suddenly stepped back, startling them.
"One more thing," he said.
Their fingers froze in mid-air.
"No Shanshu," Spike said. "When this is all over, I don't want another Shanshu. Just let me die."
"Agreed," they said. They waited a few seconds to see if Spike had any other demands and then they touched their fingers to Spike's face, tracing signs and symbols on his forehead, cheeks, and chin, and chanting in a strange language. Spike couldn't understand what they were saying, but he could feel something happening, and for once there wasn't any pain involved. In fact, pain was leaving his body. His joints and back stopped hurting and Spike was able to stand upright for the first time in years. His eyesight began to clear, and when he whipped off the thick glasses, he saw everything with a sharpness he'd forgotten. His breath left his body and his heart stopped beating, but he felt alive for the first time in decades. Preternatural strength filled his body, and Spike felt like howling in glee.
He was strong.
He was whole.
He was Spike.
The Oracles stepped back and bowed before him. "Behold, the Champion," they intoned.
"Right," Spike said as he checked out his body. "Don't supposed you lot have any decent clothes lying about, do you? Can't go out saving the world dressed in these rags, now can I?"
Angel, who had been quiet throughout the ritual, said, "I have some stuff in the trunk of the car. The car is yours as well as an apartment I rented in your name."
"Yeah? Nice perks. Do I get paid, too?"
Angel grinned. "Nope. You should have negotiated for a paycheck instead of for me."
"Please, you probably still have a fortune of ill-gotten gains stashed away somewhere. We'll use that."
"Spike," Angel said in a warning tone of voice, but Spike just smirked at him and turned to the Oracles, jabbing a thumb in Angel's direction.
"All right, now do him. And make sure his soul stays attached this time."
There was a slight hesitation, and then, clearly against their will, the two stepped forward and laid hands on Angel. When they stepped back, they said, "He is now of this world again."
Angel smiled, and Spike grinned back. "Spike and Angelus, back and better than ever," Spike joked.
"That's Angelus and Spike," Angel said with a grin.
"Now, look," Spike said, stepping up to Angel and poking a finger into his chest. "I'm the Champion this go around, so I get top billing."
Angel opened his mouth to retort when the feeling of vertigo swept over them. When it cleared, they were back outside the old bowling alley. Spike looked around and smirked. "Looks like we overstayed our welcome." He turned to Angel again. "You said something about clothes?"
Angel nodded and led him to the back of the car. Opening the trunk, he took out a small bag and held it out. "Here. I didn't think you'd developed any more of a fashion sense than you had before so it's just jeans, a t-shirt and a pair of boots."
"No leather duster?" Spike grinned taking the bag and opening it up.
"Well," Angel said and reaching in, pulled out a large flat box.
Spike finished changing and opened the box. Inside was a well-worn leather coat. "Where'd you get it?" Spike asked almost reverently as he took it out of the box and shook it out. Slipping it on, he felt as if his transformation was finally complete.
"Found it in a used clothing store. Looked like your old one, so I bought it."
"Yeah," Spike said, running his hands over the leather. Angel tossed the empty box back in the trunk and slammed down the lid. He headed for the driver's side of the car, but Spike reached out and grabbed his arm.
"I'm the Champion; I get to drive."
Angel rolled his eyes, but tossed the keys to Spike. "You're going to rub the Champion thing in every chance you get, aren't you?"
Spike just smirked and opened the driver's side door. "Come on, Robin, get in. We've got a Seer to find and demon ass to kick."
Angel got in and said with a growl, "Just because you're batty, that doesn't make you Batman."
Spike laughed, started the car and pulled away with a squeal of tires.
Time to go have some fun.
The End