“And you’re quite sure that it was Angel?” Wesley asked, his eyes downcast, the fingers of his right hand playing with his bottom lip in thought.  He stopped and looked at Spike, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, you bloody ponce!  I’m sure – I know my bloody Grandsire, the Great Poof, the – oh, for Pete’s sake!” Spike declared, the frustration clearly evidence in his tone.  He turned on his heel and strode across the room to stare out of the full-length sash window, flinching slightly as the afternoon sun shone down on him through the panes of glass.

Buffy moved quietly to his side and laid a hand over his arm, trying to calm him.  “Look, Spike, of course we believe you, but…” She paused as Spike huffed quietly and shook his head.  “But, well, it’s all a bit sudden, for all of us.  After all, this is Angel we’re talking about.”

“Right, of course, cos it would have been perfectly natural if it’d been someone like me, wouldn’t it?” Spike asked bitterly.

“That’s not what we’re saying at all, Spike,” Giles said, testily.

“Yeah, right, whatever,” Spike mumbled, still staring out of the window.

“We’re just saying that it’s a shock,” Buffy continued, ignoring the comments between the two Brits.

“Not as much of a bleeding shock as it was when he picked me up and through me straight through a bloody door to say ‘hello’ to Mr Sunshine,” Spike grumbled, more to himself now than to anyone else.  Buffy silently sighed in relief, hoping that he was calming down.

She looked back at the others, who had all reassembled in the library, Buffy having quickly summoned them back upon hearing Spike’s news.  She shrugged helplessly, knowing that there was little they could do – Spike had never been the most reasonable of vampires when it came to his Grandsire, and this latest development was hardly going to endear Angel to him.  “When was the last time anyone saw Angel?” she asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Haven’t seen him around lately.”

“He was here the other day.”

“That meeting before you left?”  

The comments came thick and fast, but they all amounted to the same thing – that nobody remembered seeing Angel since Buffy had left for California the day before.

Spike turned around to face the group, a look of almost amused disbelief etched on his chiselled face.  “Did none of you think that was, well, a little strange?” he asked.  The others looked at each other.

“No, not really,” Wesley said, deciding to speak for the group.  “After all, this is Angel we’re talking about – he has a tendency to disappear at times.  He usually turns up,” he finished, a little helplessly.

“And this is a big house,” Willow said in support.

“You’re all bloody useless – you know that?” Spike said with exasperation, shaking his head.  “Oh, bugger this! Where’s the kitchen? You lot can stand around debating the finer points of Angel and his bloody holier than thou reputation, but I’m gonna go get myself some blood. I take it you keep some in?” Spike fumed, stalking towards the door.

“We don’t think Angel’s holier than…” Wes started, before Dawn silenced him with a look as Spike disappeared out of the door.

She turned to her sister. “Buffy, I really think you need to sort this Angel problem out – if Spike’s right…” she trailed off. “I’ll go make sure he doesn’t get lost,” she added with a small smile and a shake of her head as she followed him out of the room, closing the door behind her.

Buffy massaged her forehead as she walked over to a chair and sank down into it. “He’s always been this much work, hasn’t he?” she asked eventually, looking up for confirmation. Giles laughed as Willow nodded. “Yeah, I know, but he’s right – none of us noticed Angel wasn’t here. I mean, I was off at the other side of the country, but since I got back – there’s been so much going on, I didn’t even spare him a thought.”

“And, as for the rest of us,” Willow said, despondently. “Did anyone really notice he was gone? I realise we were wrapped up in other stuff, but there was a whole evening where we should have noticed he was missing.”

“None of this helps right now though, does it?” Giles said, interjecting as he realised that this could all quickly descend into them morosely throwing about “but”s and “what if”s. “Wesley – you know Angel better than any of us – Buffy aside perhaps – but you’ve spent more time with him recently. Is there anything…”

“Odd, you mean?” Wesley finished for him. “Angel’s not been himself - properly himself - for a while now. I don’t know what it is, I just can’t put my finger on it, but I’ve had the feeling for some time that there’s something that’s not quite right.” Wesley shook his head in frustration as he struggled to find the words. “But I would never have foreseen something like this.” He paused and thought for a minute. “Things haven’t really been the same since Cordelia went into hospital.”

“Cordelia’s in hospital?” Buffy and Willow asked, almost simultaneously, obviously shocked at the news.

“Yes – haven’t you heard? I would have thought…” Wesley trailed off, as though he was having trouble concentrating.

“No, we haven’t heard a thing. We simply assumed that she was still working with you and Angel in LA,” Giles said.

“No, no – she’s been in hospital – in a coma, in fact – for over a year now. I don’t recall the exact date, but I’m fairly sure it was about a year ago.”

“What happened?” Buffy asked.

“Happened? Oh, well, I…” Wesley trailed off again. “There as an accident, I believe. A demon attack and Cordelia came off badly. Angel told us all about it,” he said finally, as if suddenly remembering something from the distant past.

“A demon attack?” Buffy pressed. She and Cordy had never really gotten along that well, but she’d never wished harm on the other woman and she was a little disturbed by the way Wesley seemed to be almost dismissive about it.

“Yes, or something of that nature. I wasn’t there.” He stopped again and then seemed to recover his focus. “Now, the Angel problem - I really think that I should go back to LA. If Angel did attack Spike,” he caught Buffy’s glare and returned it. “Which, until I have evidence to the contrary, I’m going to have to keep an open mind about - then something is very wrong. When Buffy left here yesterday, I know that Angel was convinced that Spike was human again. For him to specifically set out to hunt down and kill a human – well, it’s not something that the Angel I know would do.”

“When are you leaving?” Giles asked quietly.

“I think right now would probably be the best option. I’ll let you know how I get on.”

“Fine – I’ll call you a taxi to the airport and book you on the next flight out,” Giles agreed, turning to the phone as Wesley headed towards the door. “Oh, and Wesley?” he asked, not turning round. “Do be careful, won’t you?”

“I’m not the wet behind the ears junior Watcher I once was, Rupert,” Wesley said with a smile as he stood at the door. “I’ve been about a bit since then. But thanks and I will,” he added as he disappeared to pack.

*~*~

“Bloody gits, all of them. Never believe a bloody word I say. It’ll never bloody change, no matter what I do. He’ll always be the bloody golden boy and I’ll…” Spike trailed off as he stalked down the corridor, Dawn hurriedly attempting to keep up with him.

“Spike, will you just slow down!” she exclaimed breathlessly as he turned yet another corridor, his duster wafting out behind him as he walked.

“No I won’t bloody slow down – no one asked you to come, it’s not my bloody fault if you can’t keep up. Anyway, I’m mad at you – you’re just as bad as the lot of them!”

“Spike!” she called, suddenly stopping in the middle of the corridor as he kept walking. “Will you just stop for a moment?”

“No!” he called as he travelled further down the long corridor.

“But you’re going the wrong way!” she called after him. She smiled as he stopped and sullenly turned back to her. “The kitchen’s this way,” she said, pointing down a narrow staircase off to one side.

Scowling, Spike stalked back toward her, turning down the staircase with a sarcastic smile. Dawn shook her head and followed down after him.

She leant against the doorframe to the kitchen, trying not to laugh as she watched Spike stalk around the kitchen, a look of fixed and determined annoyance on his face as he tried to work out where they stored the blood. Eventually, she took pity on him.

“Over there,” she said, indicating a cupboard which looked rather like every other stainless steel, industrial style cupboard in the cavernous room. Spike wrenched it open to reveal a small fridge stocked with freshly chilled blood.

Knowing better than to enquire as to its type or origin, he grabbed a bag and spun round to find Dawn now standing next to him, holding a mug and pointing to the microwave, her eyes twinkling.

“Anyway,” she asked once he’d taken a seat at the table, freshly warmed blood in hand. “Why are you mad at me? Or the others for that matter – it’s hardly like they actually didn’t believe you.”

“Could see it in their eyes,” Spike said seriously, trying to surreptitiously wipe away the blood moustache that had formed on his top lip.

Dawn stifled a giggle and schooled her face into an equally serious expression. “Spike, you were staring out of the window for most of the time.”

Spike shot her a withering glare and drained the rest of his mug. “You know what I mean, Bit.”

“No, Spike – I don’t. I get that you and Angel never got along, that you have this whole history, but that’s no reason to let loose at the whole room just ‘cause Wes asked you if you were sure that it was him,” Dawn explained, struggling to understand what had just happened upstairs.

Spike sighed and hung his head. “It’s not just that, Bit – it’s…” he trailed off. “It’s the fact that they can never just take what I say on face value – that they’ll never trust me like that.”

“Spike,” Dawn said in disbelief. “Do you never listen to what people around you are saying? Do you honestly think that you’re the only person who ever gets questioned about things? Noone here ever takes anything at face value. It’s like the golden rule – always question everything. It’s not just you.”

“Then they question me more,” Spike said, sulkily.

“Oh, grow up!” Dawn exclaimed, getting up from her seat. “You are totally brooding, you know that?”

Spike looked up suddenly, frowning. “I am not brooding!” he exclaimed, sounding offended.

“Are too!” Dawn shot back, stifling a smile.

“Peaches broods – probably what he’s out doing now – brooding. I don’t brood. I may occasionally sulk, but that’s a totally different thing,” Spike replied, his eyes starting to sparkle.

“Brooder.”

“Say that one more time and you’ll regret it.”

“Brooder,” Dawn said with a laugh.

“Right, that’s it – you’re toast!” Spike exclaimed, leaping up from his seat and chasing Dawn around the kitchen table. She squealed and ran off down the corridor, laughing, but she was no match for his vampiric speed and he caught her easily, grabbing her round the waist and tickling her mercilessly.

“Take it back,” he demanded.

“Never,” she declared in between squeals.

“Take it back,”

“Okay, okay – I take it back. You don’t brood,” she finally admitted and Spike let her go. She fell to the floor, still laughing. Calming down and getting her breath back, she stood and dusted herself down, looking up at the vampire before her. “Much,” she added with a glint of mischief in her eyes. She instinctively ducked, waiting for the comeback from the peroxide blonde, then straightened when nothing was forthcoming.

She frowned and looked at him, but he seemed to have completely forgotten her presence and was staring at something just out of sight. She moved next to him and followed his gaze to the full length mirror at the end of the hallway.

“Spike?” she asked gently. “You okay?”

Spike tore his eyes away from the mirror to look at her in wonderment. “I have a reflection,” he said in awe. Dawn looked again toward the mirror, seeing this time that which she had overlooked before – Spike was right and the mirror clearly showed them both standing there. “So, this is what I look like,” Spike continued, turning his body first to one side and then to the other.

“You must have seen yourself when you were human,” Dawn asked, sure that he would have.

“Oh, right, yeah – I did. There was this shopping trip and, well, the less said about that the better. But that was different – I look different than then. More…” he thought about it, trying to find the right words.

“Paler?” Dawn suggested, somewhat facetiously.

“Very funny, Bit. But, yeah, I guess so. But more than that – it’s not something I can really explain. Just – different.”

Dawn watched him as he moved closer to the mirror and examined himself in fascination. She couldn’t help but flinch slightly as he suddenly shifted into game face, his blue eyes turning yellow and feral and the ridges of his already defined and chiselled face shifting to those of the demon he was. She’d seen him like this countless times before, but it still managed to shock her slightly when he changed.

Spike ran a finger tip over one of his now elongated canines and then up, over his brow ridges. “It’s strange,” he contemplated. “Know what this looks like on others, but never really thought about it on me.” He shook off the face, turning to face Dawn once more. “Think I’ll stick with this one for now,” he said simply. “Look, I’m sorry about before, it’s just that…”

“I know, but give it a chance,” Dawn said.

“I will, I might not always seem like it – I’m not the world’s most patient guy.”

“I had noticed,” she said with a laugh. “Come on, we should get back – see what they’ve decided to do.”

Chapter 29



The walk back to the library had been made in comfortable silence. Dawn still wasn’t sure she understood totally what had caused the outburst, but she had accepted a long time ago that there was always going to be parts of Spike she didn’t understand.

She pushed open the library door and stepped inside, expecting that the others would still all be there, however the room was eerily quiet and appeared empty.

She moved into the middle of the room as Spike followed her inside. Looking round she smiled slightly as she caught sight of a pair of feet sticking out from the green leather wing chair which was pulled up by the window, its high back facing the room and screening the occupant from their sight.

“Buffy,” Dawn said to the back of the chair. “Look who I found.”

Buffy poked her head out from the depths of the chair and looked, firstly at her sister and then at the peroxide vampire standing just behind her.

Dawn looked round as Spike shrugged sullenly and she glowered at him. Taking the hint, Spike looked at Buffy and mumbled an apology before wandering over to the large fireplace which formed the centrepiece of the room and throwing himself down onto one of the sofas.

Dawn rolled her eyes in despair at his behaviour. “Look, I’ll leave you two alone – I really think you need to talk.”

Buffy stood and looked pointedly towards Spike before returning her gaze to her sister. “No… I mean, well, yes, of course – Spike and I do need to talk, but… Look, don’t go, not yet. I have all these questions, about what’s going on and you could help me – us – with that – couldn’t you?” she asked, hopefully, looking back at Spike for his approval to her suggestion. Spike held her gaze for a few seconds, then nodded.

“Well, okay, I guess,” Dawn said, a little shocked that her older sister actually wanted to talk to her for advice and would trust her to be able to help. It was a situation she just wasn’t used to – she loved her sister, but Buffy did still have a tendency to treat her as though she were still a child. No matter what she did, Dawn had never been able to get her sister to see her in any other way, but that suddenly seemed to have changed.

Dawn smiled and sat herself down in a chair across from Spike. She tried not to show her pleased surprise when Buffy took her seat next to Spike. Spike didn’t say anything as Buffy settled down and reached over to take his hand, but he squeezed it gently in response.

“So, erm, what do you want to know,” Dawn asked the couple. She felt surprisingly nervous – more so than she had been earlier when she had been backed up by the others. Now it was just her and she had her sister and the guy she looked on as an older brother sitting across from her expecting her to provide all the answers – something she wasn’t sure she would be able to do.

It was then that she realized that this is what Giles had been doing for years. Her mind flew back to the argument that they had had mere days ago when she had tried to convince him that she was ready to be a Watcher.

Now she wasn’t so sure. To be in this position day after day – to be the one people looked to for answers, to be the one with the responsibility for knowing. Maybe Giles had been right – maybe she just wasn’t old enough for that kind of responsibility yet.

But right now, she was going to give it her best shot.

“There’s things I still don’t get,” Buffy started. “Like forever – what does that mean, exactly?”

“From what we can tell, exactly what it says,” Dawn said in reply.

“So we have to stay together, as a couple, until Buffy dies?” Spike asked, speaking properly for the first time since he entered the room. He caught the lightheartedly pissed look that Buffy threw him and expanded his question quickly. “Not that that would be such a bad thing – you know that, luv. Just, I don’t really have a ‘dying of old age’ problem, do I?”

“Neither does Buffy anymore, or so it seems.”

“I what?” Buffy asked, her brow crinkling in confusion. “You mean that…”

“The spell gave you immortality. No growing old, no dying of old age.”

“But – how?” Buffy asked in astonishment, unable to really take in what she was hearing.

“The spell – it conferred on each of you the other’s strengths. So Buffy, you got Spike’s immortality, amongst other things. And Spike, you got, for one, the ability to go out in the sunlight.”

“And a reflection,” Spike mused.

“Exactly – that wasn’t something we were expecting, but I get the feeling that there’s going to be quite a few things we weren’t expecting. The spell sort of took us unawares – Willow had found out that there was such a spell in existence, but we hadn’t been able to find it anywhere. We still don’t know what happened when Willow performed it – Giles and she are looking into it, but it’s still a mystery…” Dawn said, shrugging helplessly.

“I still don’t get why I can go out in the sunlight. Okay, so it’s a nifty trick to pull but…” Spike said.

“You got each other’s strengths,” Dawn explained again. “Basically that means that you cannot be dusted by anything that wouldn’t kill Buffy – and vice versa. So, as sunlight won’t give Buffy more than a bad case of sunburn at worst, then that’s as much as it’ll hurt you.”

“So, let me get this straight,” Spike said, mulling over what he had been told by the girl before him. “I can only be killed by what can kill Buffy, right? So, does that mean that I have to be worried about bullets and the like now?”

Dawn took a breath – she’d hoped they’d get the hang of this more easily, but she appreciated that it must be a bit of a shock to suddenly have something of this magnitude thrust upon you. “No. Bullets wouldn’t hurt you as a vampire – well, okay, they would hurt you, but they wouldn’t kill you. Therefore they now won’t kill Buffy either, just like sunlight won’t kill you because it wouldn’t kill Buffy. You’ve got each other’s strengths and those strengths cancel out your weaknesses.”

“So, a stake through the heart would still kill me because it would kill Buffy?” Spike asked.

“Exactly,” Dawn said, smiling at them both. Buffy squirmed uncomfortably in her seat before smiling wanly at her sister.

“Let’s hope it never comes to that,” she said, hoping that would satisfy the other two as an explanation for her behaviour as they stared at her reaction.

“Of course, all of this is conjecture, just what we know from analysing the prophecy and the spell – and that’s not complete yet. We do know that ‘the Flame who holds the power of dark and light’ mentioned in the prophecy is Willow – pretty obvious when you think about it, but I know that until she did that spell it caused me some problems. Anyway, one thing I do know is that we don’t know everything about what’s going on, so it’s probably best if you don’t go testing that bullet theory any time soon,” Dawn said with a little laugh.

Buffy smiled, then frowned. “What about the baby,” she said nervously, as if it was a subject she still wasn’t entirely comfortable talking about.

Dawn shrugged. “As far as we know, it should be normal – immortal, fairly untouchable – but normal. She’ll have the combination of your Slayer strength and agility, Buffy, and your vampiric strength and better senses. We’re not sure if that’ll mean she’ll be as good as both of you, or whether your powers will combine and she’ll be a whole lot better. But other than that, we kinda think she’ll just be, well, a little girl.”

“But how does that work?” Spike asked. “I mean, I’m immortal now – I’ve been this age for well over a century now. Buffy’s immortal, or so you say, so I’m guessing she’ll stay this age for, well, eternity.” He turned and smirked at the blonde by his side, indicating how little of a problem he had with that fact. “But this kid, our kid. Surely she won’t be born… Well, surely she’ll be a baby and, well, can’t see her staying that way forever if she’s going to be some mystical defender type.”

Dawn paused, thinking about what he just said. “Oh, I see what you mean. I, erm, we kinda figured, our research suggested…”

Buffy laughed. “Dawn, you’re really starting to talk like Giles,” she said. “We don’t need the background, we know there’s loads of books involved – and can I just say how happy I am that you didn’t want me to spend days reading all of them.” She chuckled. “Just tell us what you know, or think you know, and we’ll leave it at that, okay.”

“Okay,” Dawn said, blushing slightly. “The baby should be just that – a baby. I would expect that she’ll grow until she reaches adulthood and then just, well, stop.”

“And she’ll be immortal?” Spike asked.

“Yep,” Dawn replied.

“Like we are now,” Buffy added.

“Uh huh.”

“But no guarantees?” Spike checked.

“Not at the moment, but we’ll keep looking,” Dawn promised.

Buffy looked down for a moment, seeing, as if for the first time, her hand and Spike’s intertwined. As she thought about it she realised that she could count the number of times she and he had simply held hands like this on the fingers of one hand. They’d done everything else together, but so rarely had they simply held each other’s hands – it was an act of intimacy that she’d felt the need to deny for ever so long, but now – now it felt so natural and she realised that it was an act she would get the chance to repeat as often as she liked.

And that was the point, she realised. She did like – she’d tried not to think about it too much over the past year. It had been easier to leave memories of Spike behind, buried in the desert remains of Sunnydale, than to deal with them in her new life. It had been easier to just start again, or at least she thought it had been. Now she could appreciate that what she’d actually spent the last year doing was simply running away. Not just from the memories of Spike and all that meant, but also from who she was, what she was. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d willingly gone on patrol, taken a class, done anything vaguely resembling research. She’d run from place to place – not always physically, but she hadn’t connected with anything in a real sense in a long time.

And suddenly, now, here, she was being forced to stop, to stand still and finally face up to her life. Now was the time she had to stop running and she realised that it wasn’t going to be as hard as she had thought it would be.

She looked from her sister, sitting across from them, her face open and hopeful, waiting to see if there were going to be any more questions for her to answer, if she could help in any way, to the face of the man sitting next to her – and now she was willing to consider him as that, as a man, something she had never been willing to do before – at his carefully guarded emotions, and she smiled, a true, happy smile. Things might not be perfect right now, but it was a good start.

“Oh,” she said, as a thought occurred to her suddenly.

“Oh?” Dawn asked, frowning. She’d really thought that they’d reached the end of their conversation – Buffy had been sitting for a few minutes, seemingly deep in thought, and Spike really didn’t look as if he had anything else to add.

“What about your soul?” Buffy asked, shifting position to look at Spike.

“What about it?” Spike asked, sounding a little puzzled.

“Well, you died, didn’t you – you were human and then you were turned. What about your soul?” Buffy said.

Spike shrugged. “Guess it’s gone,” he said, not sounding particularly bothered. He stopped and frowned, tilting his head to one side. “Oh no, that gonna be a problem for you now? Please tell me we’re not going back to the ‘evil, soulless thing’ stage again?”

Buffy thought for a moment – Soulless Spike. She considered the possible ramifications. Spike with no chip and no soul, yet he didn’t seem to be showing any tendency towards regressing to the Spike she’d known and loathed when they’d first met. “Why aren’t you…? I mean, you’re not…? And with the bagged blood and everything…?” she babbled, trying and failing to form coherent sentences.

“Dunno,” Spike said, looking away, towards the windows.

He thought about it, as he’d thought about it on and off since he’d been turned. The bloodlust had been there, inside him, since the moment he’d woken in the crypt of that anonymous vampire, but somehow it hadn’t been a problem. He assumed that since he’d denied it for so long, back in Sunnydale, denying it now, without the chip was easier.

‘Easier’ was definitely the right word to use. It hadn’t been easy at first, not easy at all, and there had been times, before Buffy had appeared and, yet again, turned his entire world upside down, when he’d almost given in to it. It was those times that made him question exactly why he wasn’t giving in to it, what it was that made him settle for pig’s blood from the local butchers and made him go out night after night hunting, not the humans that should have been his natural prey, but the demons that lurked in the dark corners of the town.

He knew, of course, had finally admitted to himself, why – she was why, she’d always been why.

But now – he’d thought about it, briefly, back in the crypt, before his musings had been interrupted by being thrown through a door by his one-time grandsire. Now it was different – ‘easier’ was now not the best term to describe it. ‘Unconscious’ was probably more fitting. He hadn’t had to think about it, about controlling the urges, since…

“Since the spell,” he murmured to himself.

“Sorry?” Dawn asked, not quite catching what he had said.

Spike looked up, from one girl to the other. “Since the spell – I haven’t had to think about it since the spell,” he said in wonderment.

“Think about what?” Buffy said, confused.

“About feeding – or not feeding. When I was first turned, I controlled my demon, it was hard, but I did it – I didn’t kill and I went out and – well, you saw me – in the graveyard, fighting those vampires.” He paused. “You know, I didn’t really need your help there.”

“I thought you were human, and anyway, they were totally waling on you,” Buffy threw back, teasing him.

“Pet, the only injury I got that night was when you threw me again a gravestone!”

“Guys, guys!” Dawn interrupted them. “Care to get back to the subject in hand – think Spike was having a revelation.”

“Oh, right, yeah. Anyway, it was hard, but doable. But since the spell, it’s not been hard. It’s like,” he paused. “It’s hard to explain to someone who doesn’t… Okay, right. Think of me in two halves, it’s not true, but you’ll find it easier to cope with. So, two parts of me – the demon part, the bit that goes out and kills and loves the violence and the torture and,” he stopped, catching the looks of near disgust coming from the faces of the two girls. “Okay, I’ll skip the details.”

“You just do that – I’m trying to think nice thoughts about you,” Buffy said.

“And you’re doing a great job, Pet – you just keep right on doing that. Anyway, there’s the demon part. Then, there’s the other part – the bit that’s me. Well, it’s like the demon bit – the not so nice bit of me – it’s like that part’s chained, under control. Almost like it’s been put to sleep. The idea of going out and killing, hunting, it’s just – I don’t want to do it. The urge isn’t there anymore.”

“Really?” Dawn asked, frowning slightly. “Well, I guess that could be another one of those unexpected side effects that we were discussing earlier. I guess it would make sense – it’d hardly be practical for you to father like the ultimate Slayer if she then had to dust you or something.”

“Those prophecy guys just think of everything, don’t they,” Spike said, dryly.

“Don’t think it works like that, Spike,” Dawn said, before she caught the look on his face. “Oh, right – you know that, don’t you. Well, I don’t know what’s causing that. It could be that you two, I don’t know, you might share a soul or something like that – it could be that it’s all bound up in the connection you two have now. I – I’ll talk to Giles about it.” She stood up.

“You’re going right now?” Buffy asked as her sister started to walk out of the door.

“Seems as good a time as any, and you too still have to have that talk,” Dawn called as she closed the door behind her.

Wes stood in the elevator after the doors lid back to reveal the open plan floor he knew so well. The was the usual quiet hum of people going about their daily business, some standing in groups dotted around the floor, talking quietly to each other about who knew what.

He caught the elevator doors as they began to close and stepped out onto the floor, looking around for any sign of Angel. Not that he really expected the vampire to be simply standing there, but Wolfram and Hart was as good a place as any to look. He’d called by Angel’s apartment earlier, but there was no sign of him – and no sign that he’d been there recently either.

He caught sight of the long brown hair moments before Fred turned away from the small group of white coat clad people she had been talking to. As the group dispersed behind her, she smiled and walked over to where he was standing.

“Wesley,” she said with a bright smile. “When’d y’all get back? I mean – I saw Angel the other day and he said that you were gonna stay in Cleveland for a bit longer, so I…”

“Just now, actually,” Wesley said to her, looking down into her smiling face and realising just how much he’d missed her. “You, you saw Angel?” he asked, realising what she’d just said. “When? I really need to talk to him.”

“Oh, yesterday sometime?” Fred replied, wrinkling her nose as she tried to remember exactly when it was. “I’d come downstairs from the lab to get, now what was it now? You know, I simply can’t remember – aren’t I a scatterbrain sometimes? Anyway, I’d come down to get something and there he was, standing just over there. He seemed a bit, you know, distracted, now that I think about it, but I don’t know why. I guess I was too busy thinking about,” she paused and blushed slightly. “About my – experiments, that’s right, my experiments, to think to ask him what was wrong. Is something wrong, Wesley?”

“Come on, this isn’t the place to talk,” Wesley said as he took Fred’s elbow and steered her into his office. He closed the door behind them and turned to her. “I’m afraid there might be,” he said before he proceeded to explain Spike’s sudden and rather vampiric reappearance, together with the story he had brought with him.

“Angel tried to kill Spike?” Fred asked when Wesley had finished.

“Apparently so,” Wesley confirmed.

“As in the Spike that Angel said he’d found when he went down State that time?”

“The one and the same.”

“The Spike that was human, because he wore that medallion that Angel got and closed the Hellmouth and stuff?”

“I do believe there is actually only one Spike,” Wesley said, slightly amused.

“But, you say that since then Spike was turned back into a vampire and Angel threw him out into the sunlight?”

“Apparently so.”

“But he didn’t just go poof?”

“Well, he managed to get to Cleveland to tell the tale.”

“Which was that Angel tried to kill him?” Fred asked in disbelief.

“And now we’re back round at the beginning again. I see that you’re having the same kind of trouble with this as I was.” Wesley turned and paced the length of the room. “I just don’t know what to think about all this. As much as I hate to say it, Spike’s story did – it sounded like it could be true. But I don’t want to think that Angel would do something like that.”

“But, Spike’s only a vampire…” Fred put in.

Wesley stopped and spun round. “Yes, but that’s hardly the point. I’ve been giving it some thought. Let’s say for a minute that it’s true, that everything Spike told us was true. I just can’t reconcile some things here. Angel genuinely thought that Spike was human when he left Cleveland – God, we all did.” Wesley ran a hand through his hair agitatedly. “He could have only found out about the change when he found him. What I don’t get, what I can’t understand is, why did Angel go looking for Spike in the first place – I know that when he arrived back here after that trip, he was so wound up about Spike that he never wanted to ever see him again. What happened to change his mind?”

Fred sat quietly and listened to Wesley talk. When he seemed to have finished, she walked up to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re worried that he went out specifically to hunt him down, aren’t you?” she asked quietly, waiting for Wesley’s nod of confirmation. “So you think that Angel went out specifically to kill a human?” Again, she got a nod in response. “You can’t know that, Wesley. It might not have happened like that. Couldn’t it have been that he went for some other reason and then attacked Spike when he found out he’d been turned?”

“I suppose so, but, why would he do that?” Wesley asked.

“I don’t know,” Fred admitted, dropping her arm to her side and frowning. “But I don’t like to just think that…”

Wesley smiled a little. “Now you’re starting to sound like me. When you saw Angel, did he seem, odd at all, different, I don’t know – anything out of the ordinary?”

“Well, kinda, I guess – like I said before, he seemed a bit distracted, but then, so was I – you know how I get.” She laughed. “I guess I just thought he was a little tired – it’s a heck of a journey.”

“It actually doesn’t take that long, not with the private jet – which I know he took because I had to come back the normal way. So, that would have just about given him sufficient time to get back to California, drive up to find Spike and then get back down here in time to talk to you. But only just – you must have seen him as soon as he got back.”

“If he went in the first place,” Fred added.

“Yes, of course, that’s what I meant to say,” Wesley amended, giving her an awkward smile.

“You think he did it, don’t you?” Fred asked, sounding concerned.

“Possibly, maybe – there’s just too many things that don’t add up here. Like why didn’t Angel tell me he was leaving – he simply disappeared. No goodbye, nothing. Even his luggage is still back in Cleveland.”

“Oh, well, I can kinda see how that would be a little, well, odd.”

“Do you know if he talked to anyone else whilst he was here?” Wesley asked, hoping that if he could only track Angel down and talk to him, he might be able to put his fears to rest.

“I don’t know – but Harmony is probably the best person to ask. Even if she hasn’t seen him, the woman is gossip central round here at the moment and is sure to know someone who has.”

“Harmony, right, good idea. Let’s go,” Wesley said, turning towards the door.

“What, right now. I thought that maybe we could…”

“I really have to find him, Fred.”

“Yes, of course, come on then, let’s go.”

&&&&&

“Harmony,” Wes said to the mass of blonde hair in front of him.

Harmony, the girl in question, looked up from the magazine she had been engrossed in, looking slightly irritated until she saw who was speaking; then, her frown turned suddenly to a smile. “Wes, hiya – what can I do for you?” she asked ingratiatingly.

“Angel was here – did you see him?” Wesley asked, knowing that he wasn’t putting it in the most eloquent form, but not really in the mood to humour Harmony.

“Oh, what – the other day? Sure he was. But he didn’t stay for long. In fact, I told him about the call from the hospital and he basically…”

“The hospital?” Wesley asked, interrupting her.

“Yeah – the hospital had called before he got in, something about Cordelia. Anyway, I told Angel about it when he got here and he was totally straight there, hardly said another word. I haven’t seen him since so…”

“No, no – that’s great,” Wesley said, turning to Fred. “Up for a trip to the hospital?” he asked.

&&&&&

“Why are we here again, Wesley?” Fred asked as they took the trip up to Cordelia’s ward. “I mean, it’s not like Angel’s still going to be here – assuming that he was ever here in the first place.” She sighed. “You know how much he hates this place – seeing Cordy like that…” she trailed off.

“We’re here because it’s notoriously difficult to get any information at all out of hospital staff over the phone. Hence it’s simply easier to come down here and ask them directly. Of course I don’t expect Angel to actually be here, but Harmony’s description of his reaction to the telephone call does suggest that he may indeed have visited.” Wesley paused and looked away. “He does, you know – quite often. He may hate it here, but he does visit. He simply chooses not to talk about it.”

“Oh,” Fred said, her only reply before the elevator slowed to a stop and the doors slid back.

The ward in front of them was swamping with people – mostly staff as far as they could see – white coats and nurses’ uniforms seemed to be everywhere.

The couple stepped out of the lift and onto the ward floor, hoping they would be able to attract the attention of someone who might be able to help them find their missing vampire – not that they would put it quite like that, of course.

Crowded into a tight huddle further down the corridor was a group of white coat clad young men and women, all looking as though they were trying very hard to look officious, important and as if they had the answers to the entire universe. They reminded Wesley of himself a few years ago and he shuddered at the comparison. The group was listening very intently to a bespectacled and be-suited man who was gesturing with a gold pen as he talked and attempting to look, if such a thing was possible, even more pompous than those around him, though his efforts were diminished by his slight stature and balding head.

Wesley discounted the group as ‘unhelpful’ upon sight and moved on from them.

Walking over to the nurses’ station with Fred, Wesley spied a nurse sitting at the desk, seemingly engrossed in what looked like a mountain of paperwork.

“Excuse me?” he asked.

The young nurse looked up, her blonde ponytail bobbing slightly as she did so. She smiled warmly and set her paperwork to one side, looking fairly grateful for the distraction. “Hiya, can I help you?” she asked.

“Yeah, possibly you could – we’re looking for a friend of ours. I don’t think he’s been here today, but we know that he was headed this way the other day and was wondering…”

“We do get an awful lot of people through here everyday, Sir,” the woman replied, looking apologetic, her mind already made up that she hadn’t seen anyone.

“You might remember this man – tall, quite broad. Dark hair…” Wesley began.

“Good looking in a broody kinda way,” Fred added.

“Well, maybe I…” the nurse hedged.

“He was visiting a friend of ours - she’s a patient here. A girl, in a coma,” Wesley explained.

“Cordelia Chase,” Fred said helpfully.

The nurse’s face cleared, all signs of confusion gone. “Ms Chase? You’re friends of hers?” she asked, her voice sounding almost wondering.

“Yes, we are,” Wesley confirmed.

“Oh, oh – I’ve been trying to reach her family all day, her friends to – to tell them the good news,” the nurse said, excitedly, before suddenly turning serious. “But you’re not here because of one of the messages I left, are you? You’re here because of the guy that called in last night – the one Dr Haplan talked to.”

“Dr Haplan?” Fred asked.

“Yes,” the nurse pointed down the corridor to the officious-looking doctor who was still lecturing to the group. “He’s the doctor in charge of Ms Chase’s care. To be honest, we’d all but given up on her last night. That was what Dr Haplan wanted to talk to your friend about.”

“About…” Wesley prompted.

“Withdrawing treatment. And it was agreed to.”

“Angel agreed to the withdrawal of Cordy’s treatment?” Fred asked, flabbergasted.

“Well, yes,” the nurse said, seeming surprised that they weren’t aware of the fact. “But that’s the mystery, you see. We stopped all treatment at 11pm last night – took out all of the drips, stopped the drugs, everything. Then at around 6am Mary – one of the Staff Nurses here – went into her room to check on her and there she was, awake and sitting up in bed. Coma patients just do not do that – they don’t lie in bed for over a year and then be able to sit up on their own – their muscles are wasted to…”

“Sorry, did you say that Cordelia, Cordelia Chase – was, awake?” Wesley asked, not sure he’d heard her properly.

“Why, yes,” the nurse confirmed.

Fred and Wesley took one look at each other and then started moving down the corridor towards her room. Pushing past the crowd of medical staff without saying a word, they made it through the doorway.

“At last, someone who I can actually talk to – have you any idea how boring it is in here? And what were they thinking when they decorated – this pastel pink colour is doing nothing for my complexion. Please, tell me you’re getting me out of here!” Cordelia exclaimed.

Angel stood in the dark, as he had done for what seemed like countless nights now. Silent and still, he let the night flow round him, flow through him, wrapping round his body like a blanket, comforting him and hiding him from the world – from them, from those he watched.

For he had been watching them for several nights now, watching the large house across the wide expanse of lawn, watching as the lights turned on and off as the night passed – there the library, that one the kitchens – he thought he could identify the rooms merely by their locations and had no need now to approach any closer.

So he stood, in the darkness, surrounded by the trees and bushes that made up the small stretch of woodland at the end of the sloping expanse of lawn, safe and secure in his solitude.

He could approach, could draw closer to the distant building, black even against the night sky, its bulk relieved only by the intermittent glow of inhabited rooms. Once, a night or two ago, he had drawn close enough to make out its inhabitants, to see shapes moving around inside, but he had withdrawn quickly, uncertainty and doubt overtaking him and driving him back towards the security of his darkness. Doubt which had arrived only after he had, which had come upon him as he stood in the dark, that very first night, watching the building.

He wondered if she was there, inside, somewhere. He hadn’t seen her that night of his approach; he hadn’t gotten close enough to clearly identify anyone. He supposed that she could have left, that she could be gone to some other place unknown to him during the hours of daylight when he was driven from his place of safety into the shelter of the false darkness.

Her – the woman who had once been the girl who had filled his head, who had been his reason for existing for so many years. Yet she was that girl no longer and he… He paused, as he had done before in contemplation of her. What was he now? What had he been almost since he left her, since he walked away?

It had happened slowly, the change, from what he had been to what he was now. But here he was and there she was and she was no longer what she had been to him, of that he was sure – one of the few things he felt sure of at present.

He was sure that she would always mean something to him, but compared to what she had once been to him there was no comparison. Which brought him back round to why he was here, back to his reasoning – if he no longer felt as he had once done, why was he here, could he possibly have been mistaken, was he wrong to be here, should he leave.

But no, he couldn’t leave, he had to be right, there was no other way. If not him, then who? There was no alternative. It had to be him, there was, after all, no other.

But there had been a time, not so long ago, when he had hoped, when he had dreamed that maybe… And now here was his chance, so why was he reluctant to take it, to grasp it with both hands and run with it? What was holding him back?

The colour entered his mind first, the dull pink of the walls, the pure white of the linen, the deep mahogany of her hair as it lay across the pillow.

He thrust the memory, the thought away as soon as it crept into his mind, banishing it to the deep recesses of his psyche. It had no place here, she had no place here. She was gone, killed by his own hand; for all that he could claim innocence, for all the lack of blood and physical acts. Still, he was the one who killed her, with his very words he doomed her, sentenced her to death. Yet still she haunted him, still she refused to leave him, clearer in his mind was his vision of her than the one he now feared to approach.

In his entire existence, so rarely had he loved. Twice in all his time, both living and dead, had another being touched him in a way that he could even begin to describe as love, yet he had hurt them both – abandoning one and, worse, slaughtering the other. Yet here he stood in preparation, hoping that the first would forgive him, would take him back.

He turned away from the house, facing the all-consuming darkness of the woodland. What was he thinking, how could he ask that of her, expect that of her? How could he ever think, after all that had happened, after everything he had done, that she would now be willing to accept him?

He considered simply walking away. Would that be the right thing to do? He didn’t know anymore, couldn’t tell. The last year, everything had been so warped, every decision seemingly leading him further and further astray, he no longer trusted his ability to know what the ‘right’ thing to do was.

Yet there was the prophecy, the solution. There could be no other solution, no other way. This could be his chance of true redemption, his first step back on the path towards what was right, his first step out of the darkness toward the light.

There was no other way.

Lifting his chin, Angel took first one step forward, then another, picking up pace as he walked across the mansion’s manicured lawns toward the front door.

&&&&&

The front door opened easily and silently, moving inwards on well-oiled hinges. Angel stepped onto the thick maroon carpet that spread out over the entrance hall to the school, his feet sinking slightly into the deep pile. He looked around, almost apprehensively, as if he expected to be challenged at any moment. Yet there was nothing. The place was quiet, almost eerily so, as though abandoned – yet the hallway was lit from light fittings in the high ceilings that spoke of occupancy.

It felt different from when he had been here before. Then girls had walked the hallways, chattering in groups as they moved from one class to another, each without fail giving him an odd look as they tried to figure out why he drew their attention so. Now there as nothing, nobody. He brushed off his growing uneasiness, dismissing it out of hand as caused only by the absence of people normally asleep at this hour and therefore only normal.

He made his way to his chosen destination – his unfailing ability to find his way serving him well once more.

He stopped only momentarily outside the library, hand on the dark wood doors as he listened. He couldn’t hear anything from inside the room, but the doors were thick and there was always a chance.

He paused, wondering what it as that he was listening for, what he expected to find behind the double doors. Shaking his head, he pushed the right hand door open and stepped inside, closing it softly behind him.

Turning to face the room, he scanned the view in front of him before his vision was caught by the shape of the blonde standing by the window, her back to him as she looked out into the dark of the night.

She turned, her long blonde hair glinting in the light cast from the wall sconces as she shifted. For a moment, Angel thought she looked, well, unsurprised, but then her face shifted into an expression of concern and shock and she took a step towards him.

“Angel,” she whispered, her brow furrowing slightly as she looked at him.

For a moment, Angel wondered at her reaction, then he looked down at himself, seeing, as if for the first time, himself as she must see him.

His appearance, normally so carefully pristine, so ordered, was now anything but. His nights on watch, wondering where his path would take him had taken their own toll. Mud caked his feet and the cuffs of his trousers, which were also ripped in several places where he’d caught them on thorns and bushes in the wood. Instinctively, he reached up to run a hand through his hair to smooth out the style and sheepishly removed several bits of twig from the style.

“Angel, what happened? Are you okay?” Buffy asked, the genuine concern for him so obvious in her tone that he complete forgot about the momentary knowledge he’d thought he’d seen in her face earlier on. Completely forgot that she’d looked like she’d been expecting him. “We, we wondered where you’d gone – we were worried about you.”

“I’ve been around,” Angel hedged, not really wanting to talk about where he’d been.

“You took the jet – Wes said you did,” Buffy said, her voice neutral and calm.

“Yeah, I had some things to take care of,” he responded carefully.

“Things?” Buffy asked, her neutral tone momentarily giving way to a slight hint of accusation. Then she smiled. “Things?” she asked again, correcting her tone slightly to sound interested. Angel frowned, wondering if he’d mistaken the tone of her first question.

“Thinking, mostly. About what was said here that night. About the prophecy.”

“About the prophecy?” Buffy echoed, shifting her weight to rest on her right leg and crossing her arms. Angel smiled slightly – it was such a classic Buffy position, one that made him aware that he had her full and undivided attention.

“Yes,” he said as he took a step towards her. “I was thinking – maybe they’re wrong, about it not being me. Maybe you were right,” he said quietly, moving ever closer.

Buffy shifted her weight onto her back foot, leaning away from him almost unnoticeably. “Right about what?” she asked carefully.

“I’m the only one,” he said, stopping as he noted her backwards movement.

“I never said that, Angel.”

“Not in so many words, but you insinuated it,” he replied. “I’m the only one it could be – the only vampire with a soul.”

“How do you know you’re the only one?” Buffy asked, the carefully neutral tone of voice returning once more.

Angel frowned, thrown slightly by her question. He hadn’t expected that response – hadn’t expected her to come back with that question. Of course he was the only one. He had to be. Spike was no longer in the picture and what were the chances of there being another. He paused – had they found another? They couldn’t have done. The chance of there being another were impossibly thin and he would have heard about it – his connections at Wolfram and Hart, his network was too wide now for such a thing to have escaped his notice.

“I’d know,” he said simply.

“But you’re not the only one, are you?” Buffy continued, shifting her weight once more to lean slightly forward, he positioning slightly more aggressive to match the slight edge that suddenly entered her tone.

Angel’s frown deepened and he found himself taking an involuntary step backwards, away from the woman he was trying to reach, trying to convince. There was something wrong here, he could feel it. He wasn’t sure yet what it was, but there was definitely something wrong.

“Of course, I am,” he managed, all his effort concentrated on keeping his tone steady. “I would know if that wasn’t the case. I have my own sources now, you know.”

“Wolfram and Hart – of course,” Buffy said with a smile, her arms dropping to her sides as she started to walk, pacing a slow and leisurely circle around him. “The evil law firm you have miraculously managed to turn to the cause of good. Don’t I wish it were always that easy?”

“I wouldn’t call it easy…” Angel said, now totally confused as to where the diminutive Slayer was going with this thread.

“No, sorry, my bad. Not easy but nice that the bad guys just gave up and walked away.” Buffy corrected as Angel turned to keep her in his vision as her circle took her behind him. “And your sources came through for you, didn’t they?” Buffy asked as she stopped, tilting her head to one side. “At least, I assume that they were the ones who told you where to find Spike.”

“Spike…” Angel breathed the name as she began walking again.

“You know, about yay high, blonde, has a habit of being generally annoying – think you know him, yes?”

“You know I do…” Angel growled slightly. There was no way she could know, no way at all. A random pile of dust that would have blown away in the morning breeze in some quiet little Californian town, that’s all he was now. No trace, no evidence – no way she could know.

“Good, glad we have that sorted. So Spike, who died saving the world, who I saw dying, who I left, abandoned to die. Who I thought was just that until you showed up not so long ago.”

“I get the picture,” Angel snarled.

“When I left you that day, I went to California – but you knew that, didn’t you? You knew where I was headed because you’d told Dawn and you knew that Dawn would tell me. And that conversation – you knew where I was going.”

“Yes, I knew.”

“I found him, did you know that?” Buffy asked, her tone once again friendly and open.

“No, I didn’t know that.” And he hadn’t known. Spike hadn’t said anything and he hadn’t asked. Angel wondered again where Buffy was going with this. *Maybe he survived* Angel thought momentarily, and then banished the thought from his head. There was no way that Spike could have survived – it had been a typically Californian bright sunny day, not a cloud in the sky. The sun had been well up; Spike would have been dust before he hit the floor. Granted, Angel hadn’t stayed to watch the show – the sunlight streaming in through the door had driven him to the back of the crypt and out into the catacombs beyond – but there was no way…

“Yes, I did. And guess what I found out?”

“What was that?” Angel asked, deciding that the best tack to take right now was one of feigning ignorance.

“He wasn’t the Spike you told me about – he’d been turned. Isn’t that interesting?” Buffy asked, with a smile.

The alert signals were back in full force with the arrival of that smile. There was definitely something going on here, something wrong. Could she think – that he… “It wasn’t me, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he said hastily.

“That you turned him? No, I don’t think that – he would have said. But I have to admit – freaked me out just a bit seeing him like that. Enough to make me run.”

“You left him?” Angel asked, back on the feigning ignorance trail.

“Oh, yeah – not one of my finest moments, but I left. Came back here.”

“Right…” Angel prompted.

“Is there something you’d care to tell me, Angel?” Buffy asked, the smile gone, the tone suddenly deadly serious.

“No – should there be?” Angel replied, calling her bluff, confident in his certainty that there was no way she could know what he’d done.

“Nothing about a crypt, or a fight, or you throwing Spike out of a rotten wooden door into the pretty sunlight beyond and leaving him there to dust?” she challenged, the accusation dripping from her tone.

Angel stood there in shocked silence, his mouth hanging open as his brain worked to try and figure out how she could have known.

“You were still there?” he asked eventually, not even trying to deny that the fight had occurred exactly the way she’d said it.

“No, I was probably somewhere over the Mid-West by that time,” she said, her tone calming slightly as she picked up on his sheer panic. “You didn’t kill him – he didn’t dust,” she explained eventually, taking pity on the look of confusion on his face.

“I, I don’t understand…”

Buffy laughed. “Neither did we, as first, but it soon became clear. You were wrong, Angel – you’re not the one. You never were. Spike’s the one, the vampire mentioned in the prophecy and that’s what saved him.”

Angel’s face clouded over as Buffy explained, emotion draining away as he listened to he speak. “Spike – again. It’s always Spike.”

Buffy fell silent as she watched him, her explanations drying up in response to his sudden mood change. She was suddenly wary, faced with this new side of the vampire in front of her, suddenly she was on her guard.

“Is he here?” Angel asked, his fists held tightly by his sides as he kept tight control of his rising ire.

“Yes, he is,” Buffy finally admitted.

”Where?”

Buffy chuckled slightly. “Like I’m gonna tell you that.”

“You knew, didn’t you?” Angel asked suddenly, as if enlightened. “You knew that I was going to be here, that I would come here today? The empty hallways, you being here, in the library, alone – none of that was by chance, was it? You were expecting me.”

“Yes, we were,” Buffy said simply.

“How did you know?”

“I told her.”

Angel spun towards the small door at the far side of the library, turning towards the sound of the voice he’d never expected to hear again, to where Cordelia was standing.

Chapter 32:

Chapter 33: