Entry tags:
Fic: Divided Destiny. Chapter 29
First chapter & notes here (on LJ), for DW just follow the tags, and Master post of whole 'verse here (also tagged on DW).
Can also be found on AO3.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Rating: Teen. (Same warnings as the show basically.)
Characters: Spike, Angel, Illyria, Buffy, Scoobies + cameos from more or less everyone in the 'verse.
Main Ships: Spike/Buffy, Angel/Nina
Feedback: Is bloody ambrosia! (The secret ingredient is otter...)
Word count (this chapter): 5600 words
Setting and Summary: As before. (Post-NFA epic quest thing.)
Beta: The ever wonderful![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
kathyh
Chapter 29
Xander hadn’t seen Spike in years, and hadn’t missed him much, if he was honest. Not that he hated the vampire or anything that drastic, but there was too much awkward history for him to be entirely comfortable. If Buffy wanted to date him, that was fine, but he was perfectly happy with it taking place elsewhere. He could still remember that very unfortunate time when they’d turned up in Rome and been witness to more Spike and Buffy smooching than anyone should ever have to witness. Like that time with the accidental love spell, but for real.
The long distance relationship thing seemed to be going well as far as he could tell, apart from how Spike & co had completely disappeared for the past… year and a half?
Except now they were arguing. And it wasn’t a small argument either.
Buffy had burst into what was known as the ‘Common Room’ (it was some weird British term), Spike and a young man Xander had never seen before following moments later, but Buffy was already on a roll:
“Willow! Or whoever is best at all this prophecy stuff — where’s Dawn? — can you research the Shanshu prophecy?”
All the people who had bedded down were rapidly forcing themselves into more or less upright positions, wondering what new calamity the morning had brought. Willow blinked at Buffy, her hair a rusty halo around her head, and Xander wondered what the hell a shoe prophecy had to do with anything. Wolfram and Hart had evil shoes?
“Buffy!” Spike cut in, almost yelling. “Stop this, it’s pointless.”
(Spike as the voice of reason? Well, stranger things had happened…)
“Pointless,” she replied frostily. “Really? Unlike getting blind drunk, which is so very productive. Not to mention refusing to talk to anyone.”
Spike’s eyes narrowed to slits, his anger clear as day, and Xander began to realise that this was a proper argument. He’d not seen them like this since… Since Sunnydale.
“I’m sorry I’m not dealing with this in whatever way you would like, but just listen to me. They made him sign away the Shanshu — in his own blood, on the prophecy itself — for exactly this reason. On the off-chance he’d go rogue after all and try to fight against them. Trust me, they would have made one hundred percent certain that he’d never, ever get that shiny reward. Hell, if he’s out there with a pulse, I’ll be the best man at your wedding!”
Buffy visibly blanched, but Spike continued undeterred.
“Angel knew the price, knew exactly what he was doing. I don’t know why he did it, but it wasn’t for fun. Can’t ask him, can we, since he’s in hell!”
At this Buffy’s eyes widened, and Xander could almost see the light bulb above her head. He rather wished someone would explain things — why were they talking about Angel? What prophecy?
“Wait. Maybe — maybe if he isn’t human, we could find him? Like, bring him back? He came back from hell once, and — and Willow pulled me out of heaven! And you came back!”
Willow was watching, head going from side to side as if she were watching a tennis match, and looked like she wanted to speak up, but didn’t get a chance.
“No.” Spike’s voice was a flat fiat.
“No?” Buffy shot back. Arms crossed, chin up, so full of defiance and self-assurance Xander half-expected everyone in the room to snap to attention.
Spike wasn’t playing however.
“No. Sometimes you just can’t save people.”
Buffy shook her head, incredulous. Xander wondered how she was coping, she had to be running on pure adrenaline by now. This was really not the best time for anyone to be picking a fight — which made him wonder about Spike. Why was he so dead-set against trying to get Angel back? Not that Xander was particularly keen, and it seemed a strange thing to focus on in the middle of everything else, but those were not Spike’s arguments.
“Why do you suddenly get to decide who can be saved?” Buffy snapped, and Spike almost exploded.
“Because I know it won’t work! Because I know what these people were capable of! I spent ten years witnessing the fallout from their policies firsthand, what happened to those who went against them. Wolfram and Hart would have made triple sure that whoever brought them down would be suitably punished. The price for saving the world, is him. And it was his choice!”
The room was deathly silent by now, assorted Slayers and the handful of junior Watchers sat clutching their blankets, unsure and apprehensive. Xander for a moment wondered what they made of it all — and what they might tell Giles later. As far as he knew Giles had disappeared in the middle of the night to mediate in some conflict that had suddenly flared up, claiming that no one else would understand the subtleties of the politics involved. Xander was beginning to wish he’d gone with him.
Then Buffy spoke again, voice almost breaking, and Xander remembered the way she had fallen into his arms when he’d arrived. Why on earth was Spike being so obtuse? He was supposed to be her boyfriend, what the hell happened to supporting the woman with the weight of the world on her shoulders?
“How can you be like that? Just giving up before even trying?”
There was a long pause as they merely watched each other. Eventually Spike took a deep breath, as if trying to steel himself.
“Fine — remember you wanted to know why Illyria hurt so much? Why I couldn’t look at her when she looked like Fred?”
A beat, then he continued, voice suddenly quiet and raw with emotion.
“When was Fred dying — which happened like, out of the blue, no warning, just suddenly her insides were cooking — we discovered that it was Illyria gutting her from the inside out, slowly and painfully turning her into nothing but a shell. We were fucking desperate to save her. Angel and I travelled halfway around the world, because there was a tiny chance that we could save her. And the kicker? We could. There was a way — except it would cost the lives of millions of people. Do you have any idea how close we came?”
He closed his eyes, shook his head, then looked up again.
“The reason it hurts is because we let her die. Mark my words Slayer: if you find a way to save Angel? There will be a price, and you won’t be able to pay it.”
Buffy’s nostrils flared.
“You have no idea what I’m willing to do for him!”
At this Spike tilted his head, voice almost cruel:
“Did you ever try to find me? After I burned to death saving the world?”
The room seemed entirely too silent, no one moving or even breathing.
“That’s — that’s different.”
“No it isn’t! It’s exactly the same. Leave him alone. Nothin’ good can come of your meddling.”
They had all observed the back and forth without daring to intervene, and the sound of another voice surprised them all.
“Spike’s right.”
It was the youngster. Voice quiet, but assertive. And American, which was unexpected.
“You’re as bad as him!” Buffy said, raising her arms in exasperation, and the kid gave a small smile.
“Well, we are his sons.”
Xander blinked. The lad didn’t look like a vampire. And since when… No, nothing made sense anymore.
Spike turned to him, pleased and surprised, even as Buffy folded her arms again:
“I have to try.”
Spike sighed, the anger suddenly seeping out of him, almost like he was deflating before their eyes.
“I know. I… can’t help. Sorry.”
He sounded defeated, and Xander almost felt sorry for him, even if he couldn’t wrap his mind around Spike’s reasons for being so recalcitrant.
Buffy opened her mouth to say something, then paused as she looked past Spike, and they all turned to see Eve in the doorway. It was anyone’s guess how long she had been there.
“Eve! Oh my god, of course — I want to-”
“I know,” Eve replied, leaning against the doorframe, and smiling that infuriating smile she seemed to excel at. Xander didn’t know how she did it, but she constantly seemed smugly overbearing.
“You want to ‘rescue’ Angel. I hate to break it to you kids, but Spike’s right, Angel can’t be saved. However, I’ll very much enjoy watching you try and fail.”
“What do you mean?” Buffy was wary now, but Eve didn’t flinch, her smile deepening as she took a step into the room, eyeing Buffy coolly.
“Angel is going to suffer forever, and getting a front seat to having this confirmed is quite literally what I have been waiting for.”
Xander felt like yelling ‘I knew she was evil!’ and Buffy looked like she had not dissimilar notions.
“But you have been helping us!”
“Sure sweetie,” Eve replied. “Watching Wolfram and Hart collapse has been great too. It’s possible to hate several things at the same time.”
“But why do you hate Angel?” Buffy pressed on, and the smile faded from Eve’s face.
“Angel killed the man I loved. The man I sacrificed everything for. And the funny thing is, I’m pretty sure Angel didn’t even pull the trigger himself — oh no, Angel probably got someone else to do his dirty work for him. You seem to think he was nobly fighting from inside the belly of the beast — I was there, and he was eaten alive. No one signs up for that job and just walks away. No, it’s exactly the opposite of what you presume — the reason he was so successful is that he was very good at his job.”
She tilted her head, eyes like steel.
“Now believe me, the irony of Wolfram and Hart being taken down by one of their own isn’t lost on me, and it’s quite poetic, really. But to ask me to care? To think Angel any more worth saving than that baby eating demon who was angry because his supply got cut off? Oh honey, you have got to be kidding. All I have left is vengeance, and it was this job or signing up with D’Hoffryn. And quite frankly I’ve had enough of men telling me what to do.”
They were all staring at her, stunned, and the smile came back as she held up her hands.
“Hey kids, don’t look so worried. Sorry if I’ve upended your cosy little worldview, but surely you must have understood by now that Angel was a manipulative, scheming bastard who literally sold his friends down the river for his own ends?”
She (weirdly) shot the American boy a strange look but then thankfully left, only stopping to half-turn in the doorway, glancing over her shoulder for a final parting shot:
“Besides, he wasn’t even that great in bed.”
Xander felt his jaw drop. What the hell was this woman? He stared at Buffy, who seemed frozen in disbelief, except before he could do or say anything Andrew appeared in the doorway, covered in something foul and green.
“Buffy! We need all the Slayers asap — there’s been another breach, we have a demon army coming through in the store cupboard on the third floor, Ternisha is holding them back almost single-handedly.”
As if waking from sleep, Buffy snapped her fingers, gathering the Slayers in the room and sending them ahead, only stopping in the doorway to catch Willow’s eyes:
“Unless an actual Hellmouth opens, Angel is top priority, understood?”
Willow nodded, and before she could reply Buffy had run off.
“Well, that’s my morning booked,” Willow remarked to no one in particular, then turned to Talnor. “So, pudding faces, how do you feel about searching through a whole bunch of hell-dimensions looking for a souled vampire? Sure he’s not smelling of roses, but we can’t go about throwing stones what with living in a massive glass house…”
Xander got to his feet, stiff from sleeping curled up on a small sofa, and stretched as much as he was able, only half-noticing three junior Watcher scurrying away, not meeting anyone’s eyes. Whether they were uncomfortable with the big showdown, or wanted to avoid getting dragged into any research, their escape left only himself, Willow, Spike and the boy (young man? He could be anything from 16 to 25).
Xander was about to ask who he was, when he noticed once more how utterly defeated Spike looked. Like all energy had been drained from him by the argument, strangely at odds with the ridiculousness of the cape that he still had tied around his neck, like he’d dressed up for a silly costume party. Xander felt sorry for him, yet felt he ought to point out the very obvious truth they had all danced around, but never spoken out loud.
It wasn’t tactful, but Xander was too tired to politely pussy-foot around the big issues that were tearing them all apart. He knew the price of keeping up appearances and had paid it in full.
“Look Spike, she’ll always love Angel-”
He didn’t get any further as he found himself slammed up against the wall, feet barely touching the floor and Spike’s cold hard fingers in a tight grip around his throat, the fury back with a vengeance:
“You think I don’t? You think I wouldn’t sell my soul ten times over to get him back? But I know it won’t work, and when she finally has to accept it too, I’ll have to pick up the pieces. Like always.”
‘You think I don’t?’ the words were ricocheting around Xander’s brain, making no sense. Spike loved Angel? What the hell… except the world seemed to be going out of focus and he would really, really like to breathe but there was something crushing his windpipe…
Just as the world was fading away, Xander found himself landing on the floor, painfully gulping down air as Willow hovered into view, calling his name.
She gently got him up to a sitting position where he tried to ease his breathing and attempted to work out what had happened and why. Except once he managed to focus on Spike again the vampire seemed to have forgotten all about him, instead speaking to no one in particular, something that might almost be tears in his eyes:
“Why does everyone in my family have to burn?”
The American kid seemed to ponder this. “I had my throat cut. And my mother got staked. Twice.”
A ghost of a smile lit up Spike’s features, the humour almost reaching his eyes.
“Damn, I like you kid. Wanna go get a pint? Great pub not far off — King’s Arms. Got a blue plaque for your dad and everything.”
The youngster shook his head.
“I think it’s like… 6 am?”
Spike ran a hand through his (already very messy) hair.
“Good point. Well, tonight we’ll do your father proud.”
Fighting against a coughing fit, Xander finally managed to find his voice and waved towards the youngster.
“But who are you?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, didn’t mean to be rude. I’m Connor, Angel’s son. His human son, I should probably clarify.”
He held out his hand, so perfectly ‘the normal American youth’ that Xander could only stare wordlessly.
“I don’t understand,” he said eventually, and Spike snorted.
“Well, there’s an understatement if ever there was one. C’mon Connor, let’s get some tea instead. Proper tea, not that pathetic stuff they drink on the other side of the pond.”
And with that he slung an arm across ‘Connor’s’ shoulders and they walked out.
Xander turned to Willow.
“What happened?”
Slowly she shook her head.
“No idea. But Buffy’s my friend, and having a quick look for Angel can’t hurt. It’ll make a nice break from the rest of the crap we’ve had to deal with.”
She pulled a face, and looked almost exactly the way she had when she was twelve and complained about Cordelia being a bitch.
“Last thing before I crashed for the night, Talnor and I had to banish this tentacle beast with wicked psychic powers — Wolfram and Hart had kept it in a cage and it kept trying to eat me…”
She shuddered, then caught Xander’s eyes.
“So yeah, trying to save someone sounds like a neat idea.”
Reaching out, she patted Xander’s arm.
“Oh and try to stay out of the drama? We don’t want any collateral damage from friendly fire, K?”
Impulsively he hugged her.
“I’ve missed you.”
“Me too,” she whispered.
***
“Kitchen should be down this way,” Spike said, and Connor followed, jet-lagged and somewhat disoriented, but quite willing to get something to drink. And maybe eat — although listening to the sounds of fighting coming from the third floor he asked whether the Slayers maybe needed some help?
Spike shrugged, and turned down some steps.
“There’ll be plenty of things for you to kill, don’t worry. How come you’re here anyway? Bit of a way to travel…”
“Well, I’d been thinking what to do if… y’know, stuff went down. And then you called and I figured I could lend a hand. My parents kept saying I should do something with my summer, so I turned round and told them I wanted to go to Europe. Had to get a passport sorted and all that, which is why I’ve taken nearly a week to actually get here.”
“Well, it’s good to see you.”
Spike turned in the doorway to what Connor presumed was the kitchen, studying him with dark eyes.
“Seriously, can’t explain what it means to me. Watched all that’s left of my family burn to death within the past few weeks, and… not doing so well, as I’m sure you noticed already. I’ve been accused of many things, but subtlety of emotion isn’t one of them.”
“Yeah, what… was that?” Connor asked, as Spike continued into the kitchen which was strewn with dirty crockery; cups, plates and cutlery piled high in the sink and covering every surface. Spike didn’t seem to mind, and located an electric kettle on a worktop behind an unstable-looking pile of plates, before proceeding to fill it from the tap with a fair bit of contortion so as not to upset the careful balance of encrusted cups in the sink.
Spike didn’t answer the question immediately, instead simply leaning on the worktop, looking into the distance.
“What was that… Too many exhausted grieving people, that’s what. And it’ll get worse before it gets better… Thanks for backing me up by the way.”
Connor put down his carryall and found a chair. The kitchen was roomy, and painted a pale green that somehow reminded him of hospitals. The cabinets were dark wood, the floor white and black tiled linoleum and he idly wondered when it had last been decorated. Fifty years minimum he’d wager. He was stalling he knew, trying to avoid what he had to say. He cleared his throat.
“Angel… came to see me, before you set off. From what he said he… didn’t expect to make it. And I know the fallout from trying to change things. That woman — Eve? She never said my name, but I know it was me she was talking about. I’m the reason Angel took the job. The reason everyone died.”
Spike, who had been practically climbing inside a cabinet and had come back out with a teapot, almost froze where he stood, then carefully put the teapot down and made his way around the central workstation.
“Now don’t you go blaming yourself, you hear me? You were a victim and Angel never, not for one second, regretted his choice. Would’ve died a hundred times over, as long as you were OK.”
Connor half-smiled.
“You don’t have to do the pep talk, I’m fine. Well, as fine as anyone could be under the circumstances. It’s just… he wanted me away from all this, to keep me ‘safe’, but I don’t think that’s really possible?”
Quirking an eyebrow, Spike looked up from a box of tea bags which he had discovered in a cupboard above the sink.
“Considerin’ you just walked into the lion’s den…”
They were interrupted by a bustling black woman who looked to be somewhere in her fifties, in a cleaner’s outfit.
“Now would you look at this mess! I’ll never understand why these magical people can’t be a little more like Harry Potter, surely they could just do a spell or two and make everything clean?”
She had the most delightful lilting accent that Connor couldn't place, and then she looked across to Spike who was still holding the box of teabags.
“Ah dear, do you want some help with that?”
Bemused, he shook his head.
“Listen Doris, I’ve been making tea since Queen Victoria was still on the throne. I think I’ll manage.”
A beat, then he pursed his lips.
“Although if you know where there’s some actual real loose tea, I’d be much obliged.”
She shook her head.
“No, none of that, although I have a secret stash of Earl Grey?”
Spike leaned forwards, a slow, smouldering smile spreading across his face and his eyes practically glowing with focus.
“Oh Doris, if I didn’t already have a girlfriend I’d be proposing about now…”
She laughed and told him her name was actually Rosemary. The kettle boiled and they made the tea, Rosemary locating some milk also, but Connor felt oddly disconnected, even as he sipped the (pleasantly fragrant) tea. In his head, all he could hear was his father’s voice (his first father, voice old and gravelled and with unmistakable gravity).
‘Never forget that the vampire is a predator. This does not mean merely his fangs or his supernatural strength. No the vampire looks human, and uses this to his utmost advantage. A master vampire can charm and flatter his way into places where a mere beast could never hope to enter. And that makes him all the more dangerous.’
It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Spike, but Angel had always been careful, cautious, filled with guilt. But seeing this innate and unconscious use of charm was a timely reminder that not all evil looked monstrous. He thought of Eve, and tried to suppress a shudder. Had her words been a warning? Did she blame him for her fate?
“Grandma…”
Thrown out of his thoughts Connor looked up to see a young black girl in the doorway to the kitchen. She was covered in green goo and clutching her side where a large red stain was spreading across her clothing.
“Ternisha!” Rosemary exclaimed, “What have you been doing?”
The girl smiled, eyes dancing despite the obvious pain.
“Holding back a demon army on my own? But one of the bastards cut me as it fell…”
Her grandmother tutted loudly.
“Language young lady, what have I told you. Now then, where is a First Aid kit when you need it, I’m sure there was one in this cupboard down here… Ternisha darling, sit down and try not to bleed on the floor…”
Unearthing a rudimentary kit, she kept talking.
“Sorry, have you met my granddaughter? Always in trouble when she was younger; truanting, getting in fights, hanging out with all kinds of undesirables, but then one day – let me have a look sweetheart – this young woman turns up on our doorstep, says our Ternisha has a special calling, that she has been chosen as a fighter against the forces of darkness. Ah we didn’t know what to think – there, there, it’s not all that bad, you’ll be right as rain in no time – but it’s been the making of her, hasn’t it?”
Ternisha looked as if she was used to this monologue and smiled somewhat stiffly – although that could just be the pain — as her grandmother continued blithely.
“Who would have thought it, two years back when the police brought you home for shoplifting, that you would be fighting armies…”
They were interrupted by a roar, and turned to see a hideous demon in the doorway; large, brutal-looking, heavily armoured and wielding two swords, clearly getting ready to pounce.
“Alright Boy Wonder, looks like you’re up,” Spike drawled, tossing Connor his sword and raising his tea cup in encouragement.
For a fraction of a second he could feel his world freeze. He hadn’t fought since that initial battle with Sahjhan (and helping Angel when LA Wolfram and Hart fell); trying to keep the two halves of his life separate. Fighting meant tapping into that other life, the one of pain and hunger and a desperate, overriding will for survival.
But wasn’t this why he’d come? To try to reconcile the two halves? To see if he could be that warrior for good his father so clearly wanted him to be. (Daddy-issues three times over, he was such a mess. But he knew that his dad — knowing nothing of demons and darkness — would simply say ‘Do whatever feels right, son. I trust you to make the right decisions.’)
Grasping the sword he allowed himself to react through pure instinct, the Kill Before Getting Killed that was still embedded deep within his bones, knowing that there was never back-up, no one to save him but himself.
The demon fell down dead within mere moments (it seemed to think Connor would adhere to any kind of sword fighting rules, rather than go straight for the kill), and Connor looked up to see Spike smirking and Ternisha and Rosemary looking surprised.
“Well my child, who are you? I would say you fight almost as well as my little girl here…”
He lowered the sword, taking a moment to come back into the room. He could do this. Make the fighter a part of himself, not something separate. He was more than a stolen child, reared in a Hell dimension, with a bunch of happy memories thrown on top.
“I’m Connor,” he replied, and somehow the next words felt more real than they had so far. “Angel’s son.”
There followed more tea, a secret stash of ‘biscuits’, and a lot of talk, periodically interrupted by more demons attacking, until eventually all three of them had to get up, Connor leading with Ternisha and Spike flanking, as some kind of evil mole infestation erupted through the floor. Connor — as the only uninjured one — lifted Rosemary onto a worktop while they stabbed ‘the dirty little buggers’ (Spike’s words, Ternisha’s were more colourful, which earned her a telling off), and they ended up ankle deep in small bloodied furry bodies.
At which point Buffy appeared in the doorway, studying the tiny corpses with a deep frown, before re-focussing on Spike.
“Right, so this is where you’ve been hiding. Thought I’d let you know that Willow is ready for her big spell. Although you seem… busy…”
She studied the floor again, shook her head and left, and Connor almost felt the sigh beside him.
“Guess we better go.”
“What’s happening?” Ternisha asked, and Spike shrugged.
“Just another spell. Won’t work, but…”
Ternisha’s interest had turned to zero at the mere mention of the word ‘spell’, so they said their goodbyes and made their way back upstairs.
However, halfway up the stairs Spike turned, studying Connor for a long moment.
“Why, by the way? Why’d you agree with me? I think we got interrupted, and I’m curious. I’d have expected you to be first in line to get your father back.”
Connor let his hand trail along the beautiful wooden bannister, trying to put his thoughts into words.
“I’ve… been expecting it, I guess. He wasn’t counting on coming back, said his goodbyes very carefully. And people die. Good people, bad people, heroes, villains… My mother staked herself so I could live, it’s…” he lifted his eyes, “It’s fucked up, but that’s just how the world works. And once I thought it meant that everything was meaningless. That everything was a lie. Angel saved me then, and you know the price he paid. The price everyone paid. So I… guess I believe in doing my bit, but there’s no such thing as miracles. Nothing is free, happy endings must be paid for. And he’d never agree to it.”
Spike had studied him, eyebrows rising.
“Well, gotta give Stanford its due, you’re bloody articulate. Nicely said. Should’ve just let you do the talking.”
The caretakers were dragging demon bodies out the back as they made their way across the hallway back into the Common Room, green slime and blood covering the floor, and Connor was thinking that he’d have to buy new shoes.
The witch (Willow) had made a nice set-up with a mystical circle and candles, the curtains drawn even though it was still grey outside. The one-eyed guy (Xander?) was the only one there besides Buffy.
“You sure you’ll be OK?” Buffy was asking, and Willow almost laughed.
“I’ve got my lil hell buddy here, he can easily access a higher plane-slash-hell dimension, so finding Angel shouldn’t be much of a problem. Getting him out… That might be more of an issue, but this should be a good start. And it’ll be a nice break from all the crazy.”
“Yeah, let’s do the hell dimension holiday package, such fun,” Spike muttered under his breath, before leaning against the wall by the door, silent and maudlin, the easy banter of the tea break gone completely. Connor placed himself next to him, curious despite himself to see how this would play out. He eyed what Willow had referred to as ‘my lil hell buddy’ suspiciously — Spike had given him a rudimentary explanation, but all his old instincts were waking up, and he was wondering what would happen if the creature (Talnor, that was the name) decided to go rogue after all…
Eve was nowhere to be seen, presumably she’d been told she wasn’t welcome.
Willow started the spell, softly chanting as a beautiful glow surrounded her and Talnor, the light intensifying until without warning there was a large, silent explosion, throwing everyone in the room to the ground as a hideous, yet insubstantial, shape unfurled — enormous horns, red eyes, skeletal hands and arms outstretched — and roared:
“THE VAMPIRE IS MINE.”
Chaos followed.
Willow was freaking out, making as if to wipe something invisible off herself (“Oh god, I can feel it, it was inside me, oh god oh god…”), Talnor roaring, Xander was trying to pick himself up from the floor to comfort Willow, Buffy looked like she was in tears, and it took a moment for Connor to notice Spike’s reaction.
Except when he began to listen, he forgot about the mayhem at the other side of the room. Spike was talking to himself, as if not quite believing his own words.
“It all makes sense. How did I forget — I had those bloody symbols carved into my chest. Should’ve known…”
“What do you mean?” Connor asked, and Spike looked up, studying him but still seeming to speak more to himself than Connor, as if piecing things together as he spoke:
“Illyria said that — that in her day, the Wolf, Ram and Hart were barely above vampires, that they had to have found some kind of pure power source to ‘beef up’. And… The First Evil must have been it. The amulet, remember? No wait, you won’t know about that, but I took down The First Evil with an amulet that came from Wolfram and Hart. Must have been a safeguard they kept handy in case The First tried to rise again and take back their power. And then-”
He stopped, nodded.
“That’s what we did, what the Dead Key did. Severed that link, cut off their power at the source. That’s why they had those symbols.”
“What symbols?” Connor asked, confused. He was piecing together that the big demon thing had been ‘The First Evil’, that the others had fought it previously, and that it was bad enough to have them all badly shook.
“So, back in Sunnydale we found this seal above the Hellmouth, and we realised it belonged to ‘The First Evil’. And those same symbols were on the mystical circle in ‘the Home Office’ or wherever it was we went. Angel picked up the Dead Key and jumped into it and it just sort of… exploded in light. I knew I recognised them, I just… blanked it out, I guess. Torture tends to do that, s’pose.”
He shook his head, eyes once more growing distant.
“Anyway, it all fits… See if someone was foolish enough to try what we did, they’d get served up for The First to feast on. That was the scream that Dru and Willow heard, the deterrent. And Angel-”
His voice trailed off as he realised the room had fallen silent, listening to him.
“Happy now?” he asked, in what was probably meant to be a final, cutting remark, but sounded more like an exhausted plea.
From Buffy’s reaction, Spike might as well have slapped her, but instead of replying she turned her back on Spike, instead asking Willow if there was any chance of getting Angel out. Willow was clutching Talnor tight, emphatically shaking her head and looking pale and shaken.
The sense of defeat and hopelessness in the room was palpable, and when a large winged demon creature burst through the door, Buffy threw a knife at it without even looking up, and it fell to the floor with a silent shriek, dark purple blood slowly spreading across the ornate, but faded carpet.
Connor wasn’t quite sure what to do; but then without any warning Spike abruptly folded up beside him, screaming in pain and clutching his head.
Chapter 30 on LJ
Chapter 30 on DW
Can also be found on AO3.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Rating: Teen. (Same warnings as the show basically.)
Characters: Spike, Angel, Illyria, Buffy, Scoobies + cameos from more or less everyone in the 'verse.
Main Ships: Spike/Buffy, Angel/Nina
Feedback: Is bloody ambrosia! (The secret ingredient is otter...)
Word count (this chapter): 5600 words
Setting and Summary: As before. (Post-NFA epic quest thing.)
Beta: The ever wonderful
kathyhXander hadn’t seen Spike in years, and hadn’t missed him much, if he was honest. Not that he hated the vampire or anything that drastic, but there was too much awkward history for him to be entirely comfortable. If Buffy wanted to date him, that was fine, but he was perfectly happy with it taking place elsewhere. He could still remember that very unfortunate time when they’d turned up in Rome and been witness to more Spike and Buffy smooching than anyone should ever have to witness. Like that time with the accidental love spell, but for real.
The long distance relationship thing seemed to be going well as far as he could tell, apart from how Spike & co had completely disappeared for the past… year and a half?
Except now they were arguing. And it wasn’t a small argument either.
Buffy had burst into what was known as the ‘Common Room’ (it was some weird British term), Spike and a young man Xander had never seen before following moments later, but Buffy was already on a roll:
“Willow! Or whoever is best at all this prophecy stuff — where’s Dawn? — can you research the Shanshu prophecy?”
All the people who had bedded down were rapidly forcing themselves into more or less upright positions, wondering what new calamity the morning had brought. Willow blinked at Buffy, her hair a rusty halo around her head, and Xander wondered what the hell a shoe prophecy had to do with anything. Wolfram and Hart had evil shoes?
“Buffy!” Spike cut in, almost yelling. “Stop this, it’s pointless.”
(Spike as the voice of reason? Well, stranger things had happened…)
“Pointless,” she replied frostily. “Really? Unlike getting blind drunk, which is so very productive. Not to mention refusing to talk to anyone.”
Spike’s eyes narrowed to slits, his anger clear as day, and Xander began to realise that this was a proper argument. He’d not seen them like this since… Since Sunnydale.
“I’m sorry I’m not dealing with this in whatever way you would like, but just listen to me. They made him sign away the Shanshu — in his own blood, on the prophecy itself — for exactly this reason. On the off-chance he’d go rogue after all and try to fight against them. Trust me, they would have made one hundred percent certain that he’d never, ever get that shiny reward. Hell, if he’s out there with a pulse, I’ll be the best man at your wedding!”
Buffy visibly blanched, but Spike continued undeterred.
“Angel knew the price, knew exactly what he was doing. I don’t know why he did it, but it wasn’t for fun. Can’t ask him, can we, since he’s in hell!”
At this Buffy’s eyes widened, and Xander could almost see the light bulb above her head. He rather wished someone would explain things — why were they talking about Angel? What prophecy?
“Wait. Maybe — maybe if he isn’t human, we could find him? Like, bring him back? He came back from hell once, and — and Willow pulled me out of heaven! And you came back!”
Willow was watching, head going from side to side as if she were watching a tennis match, and looked like she wanted to speak up, but didn’t get a chance.
“No.” Spike’s voice was a flat fiat.
“No?” Buffy shot back. Arms crossed, chin up, so full of defiance and self-assurance Xander half-expected everyone in the room to snap to attention.
Spike wasn’t playing however.
“No. Sometimes you just can’t save people.”
Buffy shook her head, incredulous. Xander wondered how she was coping, she had to be running on pure adrenaline by now. This was really not the best time for anyone to be picking a fight — which made him wonder about Spike. Why was he so dead-set against trying to get Angel back? Not that Xander was particularly keen, and it seemed a strange thing to focus on in the middle of everything else, but those were not Spike’s arguments.
“Why do you suddenly get to decide who can be saved?” Buffy snapped, and Spike almost exploded.
“Because I know it won’t work! Because I know what these people were capable of! I spent ten years witnessing the fallout from their policies firsthand, what happened to those who went against them. Wolfram and Hart would have made triple sure that whoever brought them down would be suitably punished. The price for saving the world, is him. And it was his choice!”
The room was deathly silent by now, assorted Slayers and the handful of junior Watchers sat clutching their blankets, unsure and apprehensive. Xander for a moment wondered what they made of it all — and what they might tell Giles later. As far as he knew Giles had disappeared in the middle of the night to mediate in some conflict that had suddenly flared up, claiming that no one else would understand the subtleties of the politics involved. Xander was beginning to wish he’d gone with him.
Then Buffy spoke again, voice almost breaking, and Xander remembered the way she had fallen into his arms when he’d arrived. Why on earth was Spike being so obtuse? He was supposed to be her boyfriend, what the hell happened to supporting the woman with the weight of the world on her shoulders?
“How can you be like that? Just giving up before even trying?”
There was a long pause as they merely watched each other. Eventually Spike took a deep breath, as if trying to steel himself.
“Fine — remember you wanted to know why Illyria hurt so much? Why I couldn’t look at her when she looked like Fred?”
A beat, then he continued, voice suddenly quiet and raw with emotion.
“When was Fred dying — which happened like, out of the blue, no warning, just suddenly her insides were cooking — we discovered that it was Illyria gutting her from the inside out, slowly and painfully turning her into nothing but a shell. We were fucking desperate to save her. Angel and I travelled halfway around the world, because there was a tiny chance that we could save her. And the kicker? We could. There was a way — except it would cost the lives of millions of people. Do you have any idea how close we came?”
He closed his eyes, shook his head, then looked up again.
“The reason it hurts is because we let her die. Mark my words Slayer: if you find a way to save Angel? There will be a price, and you won’t be able to pay it.”
Buffy’s nostrils flared.
“You have no idea what I’m willing to do for him!”
At this Spike tilted his head, voice almost cruel:
“Did you ever try to find me? After I burned to death saving the world?”
The room seemed entirely too silent, no one moving or even breathing.
“That’s — that’s different.”
“No it isn’t! It’s exactly the same. Leave him alone. Nothin’ good can come of your meddling.”
They had all observed the back and forth without daring to intervene, and the sound of another voice surprised them all.
“Spike’s right.”
It was the youngster. Voice quiet, but assertive. And American, which was unexpected.
“You’re as bad as him!” Buffy said, raising her arms in exasperation, and the kid gave a small smile.
“Well, we are his sons.”
Xander blinked. The lad didn’t look like a vampire. And since when… No, nothing made sense anymore.
Spike turned to him, pleased and surprised, even as Buffy folded her arms again:
“I have to try.”
Spike sighed, the anger suddenly seeping out of him, almost like he was deflating before their eyes.
“I know. I… can’t help. Sorry.”
He sounded defeated, and Xander almost felt sorry for him, even if he couldn’t wrap his mind around Spike’s reasons for being so recalcitrant.
Buffy opened her mouth to say something, then paused as she looked past Spike, and they all turned to see Eve in the doorway. It was anyone’s guess how long she had been there.
“Eve! Oh my god, of course — I want to-”
“I know,” Eve replied, leaning against the doorframe, and smiling that infuriating smile she seemed to excel at. Xander didn’t know how she did it, but she constantly seemed smugly overbearing.
“You want to ‘rescue’ Angel. I hate to break it to you kids, but Spike’s right, Angel can’t be saved. However, I’ll very much enjoy watching you try and fail.”
“What do you mean?” Buffy was wary now, but Eve didn’t flinch, her smile deepening as she took a step into the room, eyeing Buffy coolly.
“Angel is going to suffer forever, and getting a front seat to having this confirmed is quite literally what I have been waiting for.”
Xander felt like yelling ‘I knew she was evil!’ and Buffy looked like she had not dissimilar notions.
“But you have been helping us!”
“Sure sweetie,” Eve replied. “Watching Wolfram and Hart collapse has been great too. It’s possible to hate several things at the same time.”
“But why do you hate Angel?” Buffy pressed on, and the smile faded from Eve’s face.
“Angel killed the man I loved. The man I sacrificed everything for. And the funny thing is, I’m pretty sure Angel didn’t even pull the trigger himself — oh no, Angel probably got someone else to do his dirty work for him. You seem to think he was nobly fighting from inside the belly of the beast — I was there, and he was eaten alive. No one signs up for that job and just walks away. No, it’s exactly the opposite of what you presume — the reason he was so successful is that he was very good at his job.”
She tilted her head, eyes like steel.
“Now believe me, the irony of Wolfram and Hart being taken down by one of their own isn’t lost on me, and it’s quite poetic, really. But to ask me to care? To think Angel any more worth saving than that baby eating demon who was angry because his supply got cut off? Oh honey, you have got to be kidding. All I have left is vengeance, and it was this job or signing up with D’Hoffryn. And quite frankly I’ve had enough of men telling me what to do.”
They were all staring at her, stunned, and the smile came back as she held up her hands.
“Hey kids, don’t look so worried. Sorry if I’ve upended your cosy little worldview, but surely you must have understood by now that Angel was a manipulative, scheming bastard who literally sold his friends down the river for his own ends?”
She (weirdly) shot the American boy a strange look but then thankfully left, only stopping to half-turn in the doorway, glancing over her shoulder for a final parting shot:
“Besides, he wasn’t even that great in bed.”
Xander felt his jaw drop. What the hell was this woman? He stared at Buffy, who seemed frozen in disbelief, except before he could do or say anything Andrew appeared in the doorway, covered in something foul and green.
“Buffy! We need all the Slayers asap — there’s been another breach, we have a demon army coming through in the store cupboard on the third floor, Ternisha is holding them back almost single-handedly.”
As if waking from sleep, Buffy snapped her fingers, gathering the Slayers in the room and sending them ahead, only stopping in the doorway to catch Willow’s eyes:
“Unless an actual Hellmouth opens, Angel is top priority, understood?”
Willow nodded, and before she could reply Buffy had run off.
“Well, that’s my morning booked,” Willow remarked to no one in particular, then turned to Talnor. “So, pudding faces, how do you feel about searching through a whole bunch of hell-dimensions looking for a souled vampire? Sure he’s not smelling of roses, but we can’t go about throwing stones what with living in a massive glass house…”
Xander got to his feet, stiff from sleeping curled up on a small sofa, and stretched as much as he was able, only half-noticing three junior Watcher scurrying away, not meeting anyone’s eyes. Whether they were uncomfortable with the big showdown, or wanted to avoid getting dragged into any research, their escape left only himself, Willow, Spike and the boy (young man? He could be anything from 16 to 25).
Xander was about to ask who he was, when he noticed once more how utterly defeated Spike looked. Like all energy had been drained from him by the argument, strangely at odds with the ridiculousness of the cape that he still had tied around his neck, like he’d dressed up for a silly costume party. Xander felt sorry for him, yet felt he ought to point out the very obvious truth they had all danced around, but never spoken out loud.
It wasn’t tactful, but Xander was too tired to politely pussy-foot around the big issues that were tearing them all apart. He knew the price of keeping up appearances and had paid it in full.
“Look Spike, she’ll always love Angel-”
He didn’t get any further as he found himself slammed up against the wall, feet barely touching the floor and Spike’s cold hard fingers in a tight grip around his throat, the fury back with a vengeance:
“You think I don’t? You think I wouldn’t sell my soul ten times over to get him back? But I know it won’t work, and when she finally has to accept it too, I’ll have to pick up the pieces. Like always.”
‘You think I don’t?’ the words were ricocheting around Xander’s brain, making no sense. Spike loved Angel? What the hell… except the world seemed to be going out of focus and he would really, really like to breathe but there was something crushing his windpipe…
Just as the world was fading away, Xander found himself landing on the floor, painfully gulping down air as Willow hovered into view, calling his name.
She gently got him up to a sitting position where he tried to ease his breathing and attempted to work out what had happened and why. Except once he managed to focus on Spike again the vampire seemed to have forgotten all about him, instead speaking to no one in particular, something that might almost be tears in his eyes:
“Why does everyone in my family have to burn?”
The American kid seemed to ponder this. “I had my throat cut. And my mother got staked. Twice.”
A ghost of a smile lit up Spike’s features, the humour almost reaching his eyes.
“Damn, I like you kid. Wanna go get a pint? Great pub not far off — King’s Arms. Got a blue plaque for your dad and everything.”
The youngster shook his head.
“I think it’s like… 6 am?”
Spike ran a hand through his (already very messy) hair.
“Good point. Well, tonight we’ll do your father proud.”
Fighting against a coughing fit, Xander finally managed to find his voice and waved towards the youngster.
“But who are you?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, didn’t mean to be rude. I’m Connor, Angel’s son. His human son, I should probably clarify.”
He held out his hand, so perfectly ‘the normal American youth’ that Xander could only stare wordlessly.
“I don’t understand,” he said eventually, and Spike snorted.
“Well, there’s an understatement if ever there was one. C’mon Connor, let’s get some tea instead. Proper tea, not that pathetic stuff they drink on the other side of the pond.”
And with that he slung an arm across ‘Connor’s’ shoulders and they walked out.
Xander turned to Willow.
“What happened?”
Slowly she shook her head.
“No idea. But Buffy’s my friend, and having a quick look for Angel can’t hurt. It’ll make a nice break from the rest of the crap we’ve had to deal with.”
She pulled a face, and looked almost exactly the way she had when she was twelve and complained about Cordelia being a bitch.
“Last thing before I crashed for the night, Talnor and I had to banish this tentacle beast with wicked psychic powers — Wolfram and Hart had kept it in a cage and it kept trying to eat me…”
She shuddered, then caught Xander’s eyes.
“So yeah, trying to save someone sounds like a neat idea.”
Reaching out, she patted Xander’s arm.
“Oh and try to stay out of the drama? We don’t want any collateral damage from friendly fire, K?”
Impulsively he hugged her.
“I’ve missed you.”
“Me too,” she whispered.
“Kitchen should be down this way,” Spike said, and Connor followed, jet-lagged and somewhat disoriented, but quite willing to get something to drink. And maybe eat — although listening to the sounds of fighting coming from the third floor he asked whether the Slayers maybe needed some help?
Spike shrugged, and turned down some steps.
“There’ll be plenty of things for you to kill, don’t worry. How come you’re here anyway? Bit of a way to travel…”
“Well, I’d been thinking what to do if… y’know, stuff went down. And then you called and I figured I could lend a hand. My parents kept saying I should do something with my summer, so I turned round and told them I wanted to go to Europe. Had to get a passport sorted and all that, which is why I’ve taken nearly a week to actually get here.”
“Well, it’s good to see you.”
Spike turned in the doorway to what Connor presumed was the kitchen, studying him with dark eyes.
“Seriously, can’t explain what it means to me. Watched all that’s left of my family burn to death within the past few weeks, and… not doing so well, as I’m sure you noticed already. I’ve been accused of many things, but subtlety of emotion isn’t one of them.”
“Yeah, what… was that?” Connor asked, as Spike continued into the kitchen which was strewn with dirty crockery; cups, plates and cutlery piled high in the sink and covering every surface. Spike didn’t seem to mind, and located an electric kettle on a worktop behind an unstable-looking pile of plates, before proceeding to fill it from the tap with a fair bit of contortion so as not to upset the careful balance of encrusted cups in the sink.
Spike didn’t answer the question immediately, instead simply leaning on the worktop, looking into the distance.
“What was that… Too many exhausted grieving people, that’s what. And it’ll get worse before it gets better… Thanks for backing me up by the way.”
Connor put down his carryall and found a chair. The kitchen was roomy, and painted a pale green that somehow reminded him of hospitals. The cabinets were dark wood, the floor white and black tiled linoleum and he idly wondered when it had last been decorated. Fifty years minimum he’d wager. He was stalling he knew, trying to avoid what he had to say. He cleared his throat.
“Angel… came to see me, before you set off. From what he said he… didn’t expect to make it. And I know the fallout from trying to change things. That woman — Eve? She never said my name, but I know it was me she was talking about. I’m the reason Angel took the job. The reason everyone died.”
Spike, who had been practically climbing inside a cabinet and had come back out with a teapot, almost froze where he stood, then carefully put the teapot down and made his way around the central workstation.
“Now don’t you go blaming yourself, you hear me? You were a victim and Angel never, not for one second, regretted his choice. Would’ve died a hundred times over, as long as you were OK.”
Connor half-smiled.
“You don’t have to do the pep talk, I’m fine. Well, as fine as anyone could be under the circumstances. It’s just… he wanted me away from all this, to keep me ‘safe’, but I don’t think that’s really possible?”
Quirking an eyebrow, Spike looked up from a box of tea bags which he had discovered in a cupboard above the sink.
“Considerin’ you just walked into the lion’s den…”
They were interrupted by a bustling black woman who looked to be somewhere in her fifties, in a cleaner’s outfit.
“Now would you look at this mess! I’ll never understand why these magical people can’t be a little more like Harry Potter, surely they could just do a spell or two and make everything clean?”
She had the most delightful lilting accent that Connor couldn't place, and then she looked across to Spike who was still holding the box of teabags.
“Ah dear, do you want some help with that?”
Bemused, he shook his head.
“Listen Doris, I’ve been making tea since Queen Victoria was still on the throne. I think I’ll manage.”
A beat, then he pursed his lips.
“Although if you know where there’s some actual real loose tea, I’d be much obliged.”
She shook her head.
“No, none of that, although I have a secret stash of Earl Grey?”
Spike leaned forwards, a slow, smouldering smile spreading across his face and his eyes practically glowing with focus.
“Oh Doris, if I didn’t already have a girlfriend I’d be proposing about now…”
She laughed and told him her name was actually Rosemary. The kettle boiled and they made the tea, Rosemary locating some milk also, but Connor felt oddly disconnected, even as he sipped the (pleasantly fragrant) tea. In his head, all he could hear was his father’s voice (his first father, voice old and gravelled and with unmistakable gravity).
‘Never forget that the vampire is a predator. This does not mean merely his fangs or his supernatural strength. No the vampire looks human, and uses this to his utmost advantage. A master vampire can charm and flatter his way into places where a mere beast could never hope to enter. And that makes him all the more dangerous.’
It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Spike, but Angel had always been careful, cautious, filled with guilt. But seeing this innate and unconscious use of charm was a timely reminder that not all evil looked monstrous. He thought of Eve, and tried to suppress a shudder. Had her words been a warning? Did she blame him for her fate?
“Grandma…”
Thrown out of his thoughts Connor looked up to see a young black girl in the doorway to the kitchen. She was covered in green goo and clutching her side where a large red stain was spreading across her clothing.
“Ternisha!” Rosemary exclaimed, “What have you been doing?”
The girl smiled, eyes dancing despite the obvious pain.
“Holding back a demon army on my own? But one of the bastards cut me as it fell…”
Her grandmother tutted loudly.
“Language young lady, what have I told you. Now then, where is a First Aid kit when you need it, I’m sure there was one in this cupboard down here… Ternisha darling, sit down and try not to bleed on the floor…”
Unearthing a rudimentary kit, she kept talking.
“Sorry, have you met my granddaughter? Always in trouble when she was younger; truanting, getting in fights, hanging out with all kinds of undesirables, but then one day – let me have a look sweetheart – this young woman turns up on our doorstep, says our Ternisha has a special calling, that she has been chosen as a fighter against the forces of darkness. Ah we didn’t know what to think – there, there, it’s not all that bad, you’ll be right as rain in no time – but it’s been the making of her, hasn’t it?”
Ternisha looked as if she was used to this monologue and smiled somewhat stiffly – although that could just be the pain — as her grandmother continued blithely.
“Who would have thought it, two years back when the police brought you home for shoplifting, that you would be fighting armies…”
They were interrupted by a roar, and turned to see a hideous demon in the doorway; large, brutal-looking, heavily armoured and wielding two swords, clearly getting ready to pounce.
“Alright Boy Wonder, looks like you’re up,” Spike drawled, tossing Connor his sword and raising his tea cup in encouragement.
For a fraction of a second he could feel his world freeze. He hadn’t fought since that initial battle with Sahjhan (and helping Angel when LA Wolfram and Hart fell); trying to keep the two halves of his life separate. Fighting meant tapping into that other life, the one of pain and hunger and a desperate, overriding will for survival.
But wasn’t this why he’d come? To try to reconcile the two halves? To see if he could be that warrior for good his father so clearly wanted him to be. (Daddy-issues three times over, he was such a mess. But he knew that his dad — knowing nothing of demons and darkness — would simply say ‘Do whatever feels right, son. I trust you to make the right decisions.’)
Grasping the sword he allowed himself to react through pure instinct, the Kill Before Getting Killed that was still embedded deep within his bones, knowing that there was never back-up, no one to save him but himself.
The demon fell down dead within mere moments (it seemed to think Connor would adhere to any kind of sword fighting rules, rather than go straight for the kill), and Connor looked up to see Spike smirking and Ternisha and Rosemary looking surprised.
“Well my child, who are you? I would say you fight almost as well as my little girl here…”
He lowered the sword, taking a moment to come back into the room. He could do this. Make the fighter a part of himself, not something separate. He was more than a stolen child, reared in a Hell dimension, with a bunch of happy memories thrown on top.
“I’m Connor,” he replied, and somehow the next words felt more real than they had so far. “Angel’s son.”
There followed more tea, a secret stash of ‘biscuits’, and a lot of talk, periodically interrupted by more demons attacking, until eventually all three of them had to get up, Connor leading with Ternisha and Spike flanking, as some kind of evil mole infestation erupted through the floor. Connor — as the only uninjured one — lifted Rosemary onto a worktop while they stabbed ‘the dirty little buggers’ (Spike’s words, Ternisha’s were more colourful, which earned her a telling off), and they ended up ankle deep in small bloodied furry bodies.
At which point Buffy appeared in the doorway, studying the tiny corpses with a deep frown, before re-focussing on Spike.
“Right, so this is where you’ve been hiding. Thought I’d let you know that Willow is ready for her big spell. Although you seem… busy…”
She studied the floor again, shook her head and left, and Connor almost felt the sigh beside him.
“Guess we better go.”
“What’s happening?” Ternisha asked, and Spike shrugged.
“Just another spell. Won’t work, but…”
Ternisha’s interest had turned to zero at the mere mention of the word ‘spell’, so they said their goodbyes and made their way back upstairs.
However, halfway up the stairs Spike turned, studying Connor for a long moment.
“Why, by the way? Why’d you agree with me? I think we got interrupted, and I’m curious. I’d have expected you to be first in line to get your father back.”
Connor let his hand trail along the beautiful wooden bannister, trying to put his thoughts into words.
“I’ve… been expecting it, I guess. He wasn’t counting on coming back, said his goodbyes very carefully. And people die. Good people, bad people, heroes, villains… My mother staked herself so I could live, it’s…” he lifted his eyes, “It’s fucked up, but that’s just how the world works. And once I thought it meant that everything was meaningless. That everything was a lie. Angel saved me then, and you know the price he paid. The price everyone paid. So I… guess I believe in doing my bit, but there’s no such thing as miracles. Nothing is free, happy endings must be paid for. And he’d never agree to it.”
Spike had studied him, eyebrows rising.
“Well, gotta give Stanford its due, you’re bloody articulate. Nicely said. Should’ve just let you do the talking.”
The caretakers were dragging demon bodies out the back as they made their way across the hallway back into the Common Room, green slime and blood covering the floor, and Connor was thinking that he’d have to buy new shoes.
The witch (Willow) had made a nice set-up with a mystical circle and candles, the curtains drawn even though it was still grey outside. The one-eyed guy (Xander?) was the only one there besides Buffy.
“You sure you’ll be OK?” Buffy was asking, and Willow almost laughed.
“I’ve got my lil hell buddy here, he can easily access a higher plane-slash-hell dimension, so finding Angel shouldn’t be much of a problem. Getting him out… That might be more of an issue, but this should be a good start. And it’ll be a nice break from all the crazy.”
“Yeah, let’s do the hell dimension holiday package, such fun,” Spike muttered under his breath, before leaning against the wall by the door, silent and maudlin, the easy banter of the tea break gone completely. Connor placed himself next to him, curious despite himself to see how this would play out. He eyed what Willow had referred to as ‘my lil hell buddy’ suspiciously — Spike had given him a rudimentary explanation, but all his old instincts were waking up, and he was wondering what would happen if the creature (Talnor, that was the name) decided to go rogue after all…
Eve was nowhere to be seen, presumably she’d been told she wasn’t welcome.
Willow started the spell, softly chanting as a beautiful glow surrounded her and Talnor, the light intensifying until without warning there was a large, silent explosion, throwing everyone in the room to the ground as a hideous, yet insubstantial, shape unfurled — enormous horns, red eyes, skeletal hands and arms outstretched — and roared:
“THE VAMPIRE IS MINE.”
Chaos followed.
Willow was freaking out, making as if to wipe something invisible off herself (“Oh god, I can feel it, it was inside me, oh god oh god…”), Talnor roaring, Xander was trying to pick himself up from the floor to comfort Willow, Buffy looked like she was in tears, and it took a moment for Connor to notice Spike’s reaction.
Except when he began to listen, he forgot about the mayhem at the other side of the room. Spike was talking to himself, as if not quite believing his own words.
“It all makes sense. How did I forget — I had those bloody symbols carved into my chest. Should’ve known…”
“What do you mean?” Connor asked, and Spike looked up, studying him but still seeming to speak more to himself than Connor, as if piecing things together as he spoke:
“Illyria said that — that in her day, the Wolf, Ram and Hart were barely above vampires, that they had to have found some kind of pure power source to ‘beef up’. And… The First Evil must have been it. The amulet, remember? No wait, you won’t know about that, but I took down The First Evil with an amulet that came from Wolfram and Hart. Must have been a safeguard they kept handy in case The First tried to rise again and take back their power. And then-”
He stopped, nodded.
“That’s what we did, what the Dead Key did. Severed that link, cut off their power at the source. That’s why they had those symbols.”
“What symbols?” Connor asked, confused. He was piecing together that the big demon thing had been ‘The First Evil’, that the others had fought it previously, and that it was bad enough to have them all badly shook.
“So, back in Sunnydale we found this seal above the Hellmouth, and we realised it belonged to ‘The First Evil’. And those same symbols were on the mystical circle in ‘the Home Office’ or wherever it was we went. Angel picked up the Dead Key and jumped into it and it just sort of… exploded in light. I knew I recognised them, I just… blanked it out, I guess. Torture tends to do that, s’pose.”
He shook his head, eyes once more growing distant.
“Anyway, it all fits… See if someone was foolish enough to try what we did, they’d get served up for The First to feast on. That was the scream that Dru and Willow heard, the deterrent. And Angel-”
His voice trailed off as he realised the room had fallen silent, listening to him.
“Happy now?” he asked, in what was probably meant to be a final, cutting remark, but sounded more like an exhausted plea.
From Buffy’s reaction, Spike might as well have slapped her, but instead of replying she turned her back on Spike, instead asking Willow if there was any chance of getting Angel out. Willow was clutching Talnor tight, emphatically shaking her head and looking pale and shaken.
The sense of defeat and hopelessness in the room was palpable, and when a large winged demon creature burst through the door, Buffy threw a knife at it without even looking up, and it fell to the floor with a silent shriek, dark purple blood slowly spreading across the ornate, but faded carpet.
Connor wasn’t quite sure what to do; but then without any warning Spike abruptly folded up beside him, screaming in pain and clutching his head.
Chapter 30 on LJ
Chapter 30 on DW
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(And I'm sure there are worse cliffhangers... However, I will take it! :D)