Entry tags:
Fic: Divided Destiny. Chapter 30
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): 4600 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 30
For the first split-second there was nothing but déjà vu — mind-splitting pain exploding in his skull, and Spike tried to bite back the scream that was forming, but was unable to contain it. He felt all the old defences spring back up — never mind that the chip was years in his past and long long gone, the pain was indistinguishable.
But then — images, like some internet video, the cuts too fast to follow, but burned onto his retinas as he blinked, back in the room and the whole Scooby Gang bent over him, Buffy kneeling in front of him and grasping his good arm.
“Spike? Are you OK? Spike?”
A girl. Maybe a girl. Short dyed black hair, serious eyeliner. Leather. A street… Posh, fancy townhouses. Belgravia somewhere? And demons, nasty, like those- oh yes, he remembered now. Oh hell, if some of those were running around…
“Spike!”
He blinked, focussed on Buffy’s face, faltering as he was forced to put a name to what had happened, insane as it sounded.
“I think I… had a vision?”
Buffy did a double take.
“A vision?”
“Like…” he tried to remember back. The guy, what was his name again? Eve’s sweetheart, the one she was clearly still pissed about. Doyle? No, Lindsey, that was it, had talked about visions from the Powers that Be… Load of bullshit as it turned out, it’d been Cordelia who’d had the visions. Oh. That final big meeting when Angel had laid out his plan for taking down the Circle of the Black Thorn:
‘When did this all start?’ Spike had asked. And Angel’s reply…
‘2 months ago. With a kiss.’
Wesley had confirmed it: ‘Cordelia gave you her visions?’
He inhaled sharply. Of course. Why was he always so bloody slow? He could almost feel Angel smacking him around the head.
‘Help the helpless’ — that had been the motto back in the day. It made sense — not in the horrible, gut wrenching sense of before, but in the sense of everything fitting together. A bigger picture, a bigger story.
Touching his lips, replaying that final goodbye in his mind, he smiled softly. It had been a gift — a mission, a purpose, now he was left all alone.
He focussed on Buffy again, the smile widening.
“Yeah, a vision. I need to — go save a girl. Or possibly a very pretty boy, it’s hard to tell, bit blurry.”
“I don’t understand,” she replied, and he almost laughed.
“A vision. From the bloody Powers that Be. Cordelia used to have them, believe it or not. They’re… a thing. She gave them to Angel before she died and Angel must have passed them on to me.”
“Passed them on to you? What do you mean?”
Impulsively he reached out and kissed her — for the first time since he’d returned — feeling like a heavy weight had been lifted. He’d been so lost, so alone, the loss of Angel so swiftly after Dru numbing him, their deaths like wildfires tearing through his past, shared memories and bonds turning to ashes all around him.
(And Buffy had said she loved him — properly loved him, just the way he was — but she couldn’t be there for him, nor he for her; not this time, not this loss. He didn’t blame Buffy for not understanding, she was obviously grieving in her own way, but what Angel meant to them was poles apart.)
The kid helped though. More than Spike really knew how to explain, but the sheer fact of being near physical family was a balm. Despite being human, he smelled right; had Darla’s eyes (except less bitchy), Angel’s smile. And he understood, was a fundamental cog in the dark web of Angel’s life.
“I mean — I have a mission!”
He couldn’t stop the grin on his face, the feeling of purpose filling him up like sunlight once had. Considerably less fatal though.
He’d had a mission for so long that losing it had left a hole in his life, so fundamental that he had almost not realised that this was where part of the pain came from. Oh he could have helped out Buffy (his left arm and shoulder were almost better by now), but there were so many bitty Slayers now that his input was negligible when it came to fighting beside her.
Back in LA he had chosen Angel’s fight — not on a whim, but carefully, deliberately. For once in his life trying to let his brain do the driving. Understanding that he still had that fight was something to cling to in this new Angel-less world.
Because this; this he could do. Give him danger, point him in the right direction, and he was flying.
Buffy still looked shell shocked (as well she might, and oh she was beautiful, his gorgeous, incredible Slayer) and he jumped to his feet.
“Anyone got a bike? Like a motorbike?”
“It’s… daylight?” Xander offered, and Spike raised an eyebrow of derision.
“This is London, mate. That cloud may turn to rain, but there’ll be no sunshine today, that’s for sure.”
He was on home territory, and sure, the city had grown and changed, but he was getting more certain as to where he was going — the rich liked to keep things the way they always had been, and he was pretty certain he and Dru had killed a family in a house on that street…
“Bike?” he asked again, and Buffy got to her feet, meeting his eyes calmly.
“I have a bike. It’s parked out the back.”
She dug into a pocket, brought out a key.
“You going to wear the cape, driving around like Batman?”
He’d forgotten about the cape — a simple solution to the daylight, and he had been beyond caring about the visuals.
Undoing it, he turned to the kid.
“Right Junior, you up for another fight, or is the jet lag setting in yet?”
“Too wired to sleep yet,” Connor replied.
Two more minutes (borrowing a helmet for the kid, despite his protestations, and a few more weapons), and he and Connor were off.
Christ he’d missed this — the feeling of a metal engine growling beneath him, the wind in his hair, the freedom. Weaving in and out of the traffic, split-second adjustments as time seemed to slow down; this was where he lived.
If hell dimensions had motorbikes he’d have liked them so much more…
As expected, the police had bigger fish to fry than one biker breaking a few laws, and after trying a few streets that turned out to be duds he drove down a row of houses that fitted the flickering images in his memory.
“Think this is it…” he said, letting the bike putter to a halt.
Parking up, he tried to hone in on anything — smells, darkness, sounds…
Connor tilted his head, nodding towards the house a little further down.
“That one?”
“Mmmm. Spot on.”
After polite knocking did nothing, they decided to go over the back wall. Fewer witnesses. And the clouds looked like they could turn to rain any moment.
The back door was easily kicked in, and Connor cautiously stepped over the threshold. Spike hesitated, but then realised he could enter. Their eyes met, and Spike pulled a face. Were they too late? Was the kid already dead? Well, if so they could at least kill the demons…
Very nice house though — thoroughly modernised, everything looked like it came straight out of a magazine…
Then an eerie shriek that seemed to cut straight through his gut, and yeah, those were the wraiths he remembered. Half-remembered. He’d watched the fight from a roof, when he’d bothered to pay attention. Only couple of weeks ago, yet it felt like years, the lethargy had been so all-encompassing he couldn’t really remember much… And they were both gone now, his fellow warriors.
But he’d already tried to drown his grief in a bottle, this at least was a helluva lot more productive.
“Right — don’t touch them,” he informed Connor. “Not even after they’re dead. They’ll turn you into their kind.”
“You… could have mentioned this before,” Connor said, unsheathing his sword, and Spike grinned.
“Like that would’ve made a difference…”
There were only four wraiths, but the no-touch rule meant it was a difficult fight. When they’d eventually managed to off them all, they fine-combed the house to make sure they had got them all, and it’d be nice to get a clue as to why they’d been there. Plus there was the kid…
They didn’t know what to make of the house. It was inhabited; food in the fridge, jackets and shoes in the hallway, dirty plates and cups in front of the telly, but the bedrooms were pristine, with nothing in the wardrobes…
Having worked their way up the floors, they eventually pushed open the door to the loft conversion and saw two big, frightened eyes staring back at them.
The eyes — to Spike’s pleasant surprise — belonged to the kid from his vision; he immediately recognised the jet-black hair (in his expert option dyed rather than natural), the eyeliner and the multiple earrings. The rest of the outfit matched the hair — T-shirt to boots it was top to toe black, with wide black leather wristbands and black nail polish. He really liked the kid’s style.
Unfortunately there was also a magical staff pointed at them, covered in runes.
“Are you from the Watcher’s Council?” the kid asked, voice breaking, and Spike tilted his head. A boy then. Although very young, maybe thirteen, fourteen at the most…
“Do we look like Slayers?” he replied, and the staff wavered a little.
“Did you kill my wraiths?” the boy then asked, and Spike nodded.
“Yes, they were bloody nasty things. Which begs the question — why were they ‘yours’ and… who or what are you?”
The boy’s eyes widened and he pointed the staff squarely at Spike’s chest.
“I could kill you,” he stated — a threat that might have worked a little better if he hadn’t looked like he was about to burst into tears.
Connor sighed, and literally laid down his sword before holding out his hands, palms up, smiling.
“Hey, we’re not here to hurt you. I’m Connor and this is Spike. Now Spike is a vampire, and the fact that he is standing where he is means that either all the people who live here are dead — or, if it’s your house, that you’re not human. And that’s fine.”
Spike felt like pointing out that if the boy was actually a face-stealing baby eater, ‘fine’ might not be the best term, but he couldn’t argue with the outcome, as the boy did lower his stick a little.
“What’s your name, kid?” Spike asked, softening his voice, and the lad swallowed.
“Adam. But why are you here if you’re not from the Council?”
“Right then Adam,” Spike began, wondering exactly how to spin it. “So, yours truly gets visions from the Powers that Screw. This one was about you, so I presumed you needed rescuing from the wraiths. I’m beginning to suspect the reality is a little more complicated…”
A beat, then the boy lowered the staff completely and started speaking, the words tumbling out.
“I’m only here to study and they got me this house for the summer holidays and everything was fine, but then suddenly Wolfram & Hart, like, disappeared and everything was collapsing and I couldn’t get hold of anyone and Slayers were killing lots of my contacts and so I did a spell to summon the wraiths because they could protect me, but they wouldn’t let me leave the house so I was trapped and I didn’t know what to do and I’m really scared because what if the Slayers come to kill me?”
Spike and Connor glanced at each other. So it was Wolfram & Hart related after all…
Before Spike could ask what exactly Adam’s connection to Wolfram & Hart was, Connor spoke again.
“So you’re here all on your own? No friends? Family?”
Adam shrugged.
“I have, like, an older sister, but she’s been missing for, like, years, which probably means that she got killed…”
“Oh. Sorry, that sucks.”
Adam shrugged again, this time somehow even less concerned.
“I say ‘sister’ but it’s not like we’re human or that I particularly care, I barely know her. And she screwed up on the job, like, big-time, so I presume they had her killed. Wolfram & Hart aren’t big on second chances…”
“What’d she do?” Spike asked, partly out of curiosity, and partly because he wasn’t quite sure what to ask next. ‘Come back to Slayer Central’ wouldn’t go down well, but he couldn’t leave the kid on his own.
“She fell in love,” Adam sneered, with all the contempt of the very young, still untouched by Cupid’s arrow. “Betrayed the Senior Partners. Like, we were born to work for them, how could she be so stupid?”
Spike felt like massive cogs were slowly connecting in his head. His hangover was pretty manageable, but it did seem to impede his brain functions somewhat, everything taking far longer to work out than it should.
“Hang on,” he said. “I think I know your sister…”
***
Opening the main doors of the Watcher’s Council they walked straight into a major argument.
“I go away for half a day-” Giles was saying, sounding equal parts exhausted and angry, and Buffy cut him off, furious.
“Oh don’t you dare go all Patriarchy on me. If we hadn’t tried to get Angel back we wouldn’t know any of this, and wouldn’t have uncovered her real agenda!”
“Hey!” Eve interjected. “I’m not the bad guy here. I’ve done nothing except help you. And half your people have tried destroying the world, why-”
She turned to see who was interrupting them, and her eyes widened.
The next second she was striding across the foyer.
“Adam! What are you doing here? And what the hell are you wearing? Is this what passes for a uniform at Eton?”
Adam raised his chin, defiant.
“It’s the summer holidays, I can wear what I want. And besides you’re human now Spike says, why should I listen to you?”
A second later Eve’s hand flashed forward, slapping him soundly across the face.
“Don’t you dare! You know nothing about what I’ve been through!”
“I was all alone!” The boy had tears in his eyes now. “I thought you were dead. And there was no one to help me and I had no one to ask and everything was falling apart and Slayers were killing everyone and I thought they would come for me too…”
He looked like he was going to actually burst into tears, as Giles and Buffy appeared.
“So… who is this?” Giles asked, clearly wishing himself a hundred miles away, and Spike smirked. It was good to be back, and even better to be able to enjoy the mayhem properly.
“Well Rupert, allow me to introduce Adam. He’s a child of the Senior Partners, and incidentally Eve’s little brother.”
There was a long pause as Giles seemed to reboot his whole brain.
“Right then. But… why is he here?”
Spike blinked innocently. “He’s technically an orphan now. Surely you’d want to help him? Besides, I had a vision, as you may have heard. From the actual Powers That Be. We’re meant to be helping him.”
Buffy’s eyes had darted between the two of them, taking in Spike’s now gelled back hair, eyeliner and nail polish.
“Looks more like your little brother,” she remarked, and Spike grinned widely.
At Buffy’s words, he slung an arm around Adam’s slender shoulders.
“There, see we could be brothers. You, me ’n Connor, eh?”
“The three musketeers?” Eve offered coldly, and Spike looked back innocently.
“If you like. Although I thought you’d be pleased I found your brother…”
She let her eyes rest on Adam for a long moment, and Spike wondered what on earth was going on in her head.
“Fine. But you’re washing your face young man.”
“Not a chance. I like looking like this. I didn’t ask for this body or this face, but I’ll do whatever the hell I like with it!”
“It seems a pretty harmless outlet for rebellion,” Connor added. “I locked my dad in a cage and dropped him at the bottom of the ocean… Angel I mean, not one of the others.”
“This,” Spike said happily, looking from Connor’s wry amusement to Adam’s defiant face, “Is a beautiful day.”
A second later all the windows shattered as a black-clad swat team burst through them into the tall foyer.
Buffy stared up at the heavy armed militia descending on long ropes and shook her head.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
Then she turned on Spike:
“Oh and this is 100% your fault. That was a perfect jinx.”
“Fair nuff,” he replied, drawing his sword.
Then Eve sighed, looking at them like they were all morons.
“How are you all so stupid? Do I have to do everything around here?”
Grasping the magic staff that Adam still clung to like a security blanket, she stepped forwards, holding it up.
“Please inform your leader know that we will see them, their safety is guaranteed.”
Half-turning, she quietly added: “Older demons can be extremely paranoid. These are private soldiers, hired for security purposes in order to secure the area — hopefully whoever-it-is should now feel safe enough to talk to us.”
“And the stick?” Buffy hissed.
“Official Wolfram and Hart magic apparatus. Again, it helps build trust.”
Glancing at Adam, she didn’t miss a chance for a getting her point across: “And this is why it is helpful to look smart and professional and not like you fell out of a Soho gay bar.”
“You can take the lawyer out of Wolfram & Hart…” Spike observed to no one in particular, and then they all turned to look at the enormously fat demon which was now trying to get through the doors.
It looked uncommonly like Jabba the Hutt, and Spike took a step back, and then another.
“Right, I’m going to skedaddle, this whole polite negotiation is really not my forte…”
***
Many hours later, the luminescent London night’s sky above him, Spike was on the roof of the Council, having a quiet cigarette, legs dangling over the side. The roof was flat, with raised edges, and he wondered if the bitty Slayers used it for training.
He’d disappeared again, needing to sort himself out properly; take stock, work out what to do next. He’d eventually returned to the Council, but one look at the monks which were filing in through the front door made him head for the roof.
Someone must have told Buffy where he was, because after a little while she turned up, quietly appearing beside him.
“You… OK?” she asked cautiously, clearly still wondering exactly where they were after their big fight this morning, and he nodded.
“Yeah. Yeah I think I’m good. You?”
She nodded, even if her body language showed that she was obviously still not very comfortable.
“Been better, but yeah. OK I guess.”
Angel’s name hung unspoken between them.
It almost seemed like a dream — a ten year long nightmare with a few bright points (like Venka), but it all blurred, looking back. All he remembered was Angel; Angel grumpy, Angel happy, Angel impatient and bored and frustrated and Angel having his back, always.
Like back in the day; the two of them bickering and fighting and arguing over how and who to kill and the girls rolling their eyes…
He still expected him to be there, opening his mouth to say something cutting and then realising that Angel wouldn’t be there to hear it. Like a phantom limb.
“Do you think The First will get me too when I die?” he asked speculatively, before turning to look at Buffy and taking one final drag of the fag. “I did stop it from rising, that should do it, right? Make it personal enough for it to go for me.”
He seemed to have rendered Buffy speechless once again. But she’d wanted him to talk so… he talked. If it wasn’t what she wanted to hear, well, he couldn’t help that.
“It’d make it easier to bear if I knew we wouldn’t be alone forever — that’s what destroys you, not the torture.”
A beat, then he continued.
“I just wish I knew. Angel once told me he never escaped from hell, just got a reprieve… Did I tell you that already? Anyway, I guess that’s one reason I told you not to try to get him back. He always knew what was coming.”
He flicked the now dead cigarette end into the air, watching as it tumbled through the air and then leaning forwards to see if he managed to hit anyone on the head far, far below.
Buffy grasped hold of his sleeve:
“Stop. You will fall!”
“Fallen further, still here,” he replied, then abruptly turned around completely, taking her face in his hands and studying her. The half light couldn’t hide her beauty, nor the worry and grief that he could see so clearly, and that he had stubbornly ignored whilst trying to work out what to do, lost inside himself.
“But I think I’ve worked it out now. The Shanshu was obviously bollocks, but I have this.” He spread his hand out to encompass the city scape spread out around them, as far as the eyes could see. “This world — you — are my reprieve. I’ll meet a dusty end at some point, but until then… Until then, this’ll do me just fine.”
She was shaking her head. “How can you talk like that?”
“Told you once before, remember?” He raised an eyebrow at her. “I like this world. You've got... dog racing, Manchester United…”
A smile began sneaking onto her face.
“And people like Happy Meals on legs? Yeah. I remember.”
“Seems like life-times ago,” he said, drifting off point again, remembering that first truce and the events that had led up to it. “I hated him so much. Can’t believe he’s gone, y’know? He was just always there. Me an’ him — the perfect double act. Been everything to each other.” Raised an eyebrow, smiling at the horizon. “Done everything…”
“Every thing?” Buffy asked, hesitating, and he glanced at her. Surely it couldn’t be that much of a curveball?
“Yes even that… Once. One night. Guess that’s something else we’ve got in common — one time with Angel.”
Seeing the look on her face, he decided to change the subject. Especially as he didn’t quite know how to describe that night himself.
“Anyway, it was years ago. And not the point I wanted to make. See I’ve been thinking.”
She waited, unsure, and he looked her dead in the eye, hope and fear warring inside him:
“I’ve made a decision — I’m going to LA to re-establish Angel Investigations. So I was wonderin’ — d’you wanna come with?”
Chapter 31 on LJ
Chapter 31 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): 4600 words
Setting and Summary: As before. (Post-NFA epic quest thing.)
Beta: The ever wonderful
kathyhFor the first split-second there was nothing but déjà vu — mind-splitting pain exploding in his skull, and Spike tried to bite back the scream that was forming, but was unable to contain it. He felt all the old defences spring back up — never mind that the chip was years in his past and long long gone, the pain was indistinguishable.
But then — images, like some internet video, the cuts too fast to follow, but burned onto his retinas as he blinked, back in the room and the whole Scooby Gang bent over him, Buffy kneeling in front of him and grasping his good arm.
“Spike? Are you OK? Spike?”
A girl. Maybe a girl. Short dyed black hair, serious eyeliner. Leather. A street… Posh, fancy townhouses. Belgravia somewhere? And demons, nasty, like those- oh yes, he remembered now. Oh hell, if some of those were running around…
“Spike!”
He blinked, focussed on Buffy’s face, faltering as he was forced to put a name to what had happened, insane as it sounded.
“I think I… had a vision?”
Buffy did a double take.
“A vision?”
“Like…” he tried to remember back. The guy, what was his name again? Eve’s sweetheart, the one she was clearly still pissed about. Doyle? No, Lindsey, that was it, had talked about visions from the Powers that Be… Load of bullshit as it turned out, it’d been Cordelia who’d had the visions. Oh. That final big meeting when Angel had laid out his plan for taking down the Circle of the Black Thorn:
‘When did this all start?’ Spike had asked. And Angel’s reply…
‘2 months ago. With a kiss.’
Wesley had confirmed it: ‘Cordelia gave you her visions?’
He inhaled sharply. Of course. Why was he always so bloody slow? He could almost feel Angel smacking him around the head.
‘Help the helpless’ — that had been the motto back in the day. It made sense — not in the horrible, gut wrenching sense of before, but in the sense of everything fitting together. A bigger picture, a bigger story.
Touching his lips, replaying that final goodbye in his mind, he smiled softly. It had been a gift — a mission, a purpose, now he was left all alone.
He focussed on Buffy again, the smile widening.
“Yeah, a vision. I need to — go save a girl. Or possibly a very pretty boy, it’s hard to tell, bit blurry.”
“I don’t understand,” she replied, and he almost laughed.
“A vision. From the bloody Powers that Be. Cordelia used to have them, believe it or not. They’re… a thing. She gave them to Angel before she died and Angel must have passed them on to me.”
“Passed them on to you? What do you mean?”
Impulsively he reached out and kissed her — for the first time since he’d returned — feeling like a heavy weight had been lifted. He’d been so lost, so alone, the loss of Angel so swiftly after Dru numbing him, their deaths like wildfires tearing through his past, shared memories and bonds turning to ashes all around him.
(And Buffy had said she loved him — properly loved him, just the way he was — but she couldn’t be there for him, nor he for her; not this time, not this loss. He didn’t blame Buffy for not understanding, she was obviously grieving in her own way, but what Angel meant to them was poles apart.)
The kid helped though. More than Spike really knew how to explain, but the sheer fact of being near physical family was a balm. Despite being human, he smelled right; had Darla’s eyes (except less bitchy), Angel’s smile. And he understood, was a fundamental cog in the dark web of Angel’s life.
“I mean — I have a mission!”
He couldn’t stop the grin on his face, the feeling of purpose filling him up like sunlight once had. Considerably less fatal though.
He’d had a mission for so long that losing it had left a hole in his life, so fundamental that he had almost not realised that this was where part of the pain came from. Oh he could have helped out Buffy (his left arm and shoulder were almost better by now), but there were so many bitty Slayers now that his input was negligible when it came to fighting beside her.
Back in LA he had chosen Angel’s fight — not on a whim, but carefully, deliberately. For once in his life trying to let his brain do the driving. Understanding that he still had that fight was something to cling to in this new Angel-less world.
Because this; this he could do. Give him danger, point him in the right direction, and he was flying.
Buffy still looked shell shocked (as well she might, and oh she was beautiful, his gorgeous, incredible Slayer) and he jumped to his feet.
“Anyone got a bike? Like a motorbike?”
“It’s… daylight?” Xander offered, and Spike raised an eyebrow of derision.
“This is London, mate. That cloud may turn to rain, but there’ll be no sunshine today, that’s for sure.”
He was on home territory, and sure, the city had grown and changed, but he was getting more certain as to where he was going — the rich liked to keep things the way they always had been, and he was pretty certain he and Dru had killed a family in a house on that street…
“Bike?” he asked again, and Buffy got to her feet, meeting his eyes calmly.
“I have a bike. It’s parked out the back.”
She dug into a pocket, brought out a key.
“You going to wear the cape, driving around like Batman?”
He’d forgotten about the cape — a simple solution to the daylight, and he had been beyond caring about the visuals.
Undoing it, he turned to the kid.
“Right Junior, you up for another fight, or is the jet lag setting in yet?”
“Too wired to sleep yet,” Connor replied.
Two more minutes (borrowing a helmet for the kid, despite his protestations, and a few more weapons), and he and Connor were off.
Christ he’d missed this — the feeling of a metal engine growling beneath him, the wind in his hair, the freedom. Weaving in and out of the traffic, split-second adjustments as time seemed to slow down; this was where he lived.
If hell dimensions had motorbikes he’d have liked them so much more…
As expected, the police had bigger fish to fry than one biker breaking a few laws, and after trying a few streets that turned out to be duds he drove down a row of houses that fitted the flickering images in his memory.
“Think this is it…” he said, letting the bike putter to a halt.
Parking up, he tried to hone in on anything — smells, darkness, sounds…
Connor tilted his head, nodding towards the house a little further down.
“That one?”
“Mmmm. Spot on.”
After polite knocking did nothing, they decided to go over the back wall. Fewer witnesses. And the clouds looked like they could turn to rain any moment.
The back door was easily kicked in, and Connor cautiously stepped over the threshold. Spike hesitated, but then realised he could enter. Their eyes met, and Spike pulled a face. Were they too late? Was the kid already dead? Well, if so they could at least kill the demons…
Very nice house though — thoroughly modernised, everything looked like it came straight out of a magazine…
Then an eerie shriek that seemed to cut straight through his gut, and yeah, those were the wraiths he remembered. Half-remembered. He’d watched the fight from a roof, when he’d bothered to pay attention. Only couple of weeks ago, yet it felt like years, the lethargy had been so all-encompassing he couldn’t really remember much… And they were both gone now, his fellow warriors.
But he’d already tried to drown his grief in a bottle, this at least was a helluva lot more productive.
“Right — don’t touch them,” he informed Connor. “Not even after they’re dead. They’ll turn you into their kind.”
“You… could have mentioned this before,” Connor said, unsheathing his sword, and Spike grinned.
“Like that would’ve made a difference…”
There were only four wraiths, but the no-touch rule meant it was a difficult fight. When they’d eventually managed to off them all, they fine-combed the house to make sure they had got them all, and it’d be nice to get a clue as to why they’d been there. Plus there was the kid…
They didn’t know what to make of the house. It was inhabited; food in the fridge, jackets and shoes in the hallway, dirty plates and cups in front of the telly, but the bedrooms were pristine, with nothing in the wardrobes…
Having worked their way up the floors, they eventually pushed open the door to the loft conversion and saw two big, frightened eyes staring back at them.
The eyes — to Spike’s pleasant surprise — belonged to the kid from his vision; he immediately recognised the jet-black hair (in his expert option dyed rather than natural), the eyeliner and the multiple earrings. The rest of the outfit matched the hair — T-shirt to boots it was top to toe black, with wide black leather wristbands and black nail polish. He really liked the kid’s style.
Unfortunately there was also a magical staff pointed at them, covered in runes.
“Are you from the Watcher’s Council?” the kid asked, voice breaking, and Spike tilted his head. A boy then. Although very young, maybe thirteen, fourteen at the most…
“Do we look like Slayers?” he replied, and the staff wavered a little.
“Did you kill my wraiths?” the boy then asked, and Spike nodded.
“Yes, they were bloody nasty things. Which begs the question — why were they ‘yours’ and… who or what are you?”
The boy’s eyes widened and he pointed the staff squarely at Spike’s chest.
“I could kill you,” he stated — a threat that might have worked a little better if he hadn’t looked like he was about to burst into tears.
Connor sighed, and literally laid down his sword before holding out his hands, palms up, smiling.
“Hey, we’re not here to hurt you. I’m Connor and this is Spike. Now Spike is a vampire, and the fact that he is standing where he is means that either all the people who live here are dead — or, if it’s your house, that you’re not human. And that’s fine.”
Spike felt like pointing out that if the boy was actually a face-stealing baby eater, ‘fine’ might not be the best term, but he couldn’t argue with the outcome, as the boy did lower his stick a little.
“What’s your name, kid?” Spike asked, softening his voice, and the lad swallowed.
“Adam. But why are you here if you’re not from the Council?”
“Right then Adam,” Spike began, wondering exactly how to spin it. “So, yours truly gets visions from the Powers that Screw. This one was about you, so I presumed you needed rescuing from the wraiths. I’m beginning to suspect the reality is a little more complicated…”
A beat, then the boy lowered the staff completely and started speaking, the words tumbling out.
“I’m only here to study and they got me this house for the summer holidays and everything was fine, but then suddenly Wolfram & Hart, like, disappeared and everything was collapsing and I couldn’t get hold of anyone and Slayers were killing lots of my contacts and so I did a spell to summon the wraiths because they could protect me, but they wouldn’t let me leave the house so I was trapped and I didn’t know what to do and I’m really scared because what if the Slayers come to kill me?”
Spike and Connor glanced at each other. So it was Wolfram & Hart related after all…
Before Spike could ask what exactly Adam’s connection to Wolfram & Hart was, Connor spoke again.
“So you’re here all on your own? No friends? Family?”
Adam shrugged.
“I have, like, an older sister, but she’s been missing for, like, years, which probably means that she got killed…”
“Oh. Sorry, that sucks.”
Adam shrugged again, this time somehow even less concerned.
“I say ‘sister’ but it’s not like we’re human or that I particularly care, I barely know her. And she screwed up on the job, like, big-time, so I presume they had her killed. Wolfram & Hart aren’t big on second chances…”
“What’d she do?” Spike asked, partly out of curiosity, and partly because he wasn’t quite sure what to ask next. ‘Come back to Slayer Central’ wouldn’t go down well, but he couldn’t leave the kid on his own.
“She fell in love,” Adam sneered, with all the contempt of the very young, still untouched by Cupid’s arrow. “Betrayed the Senior Partners. Like, we were born to work for them, how could she be so stupid?”
Spike felt like massive cogs were slowly connecting in his head. His hangover was pretty manageable, but it did seem to impede his brain functions somewhat, everything taking far longer to work out than it should.
“Hang on,” he said. “I think I know your sister…”
Opening the main doors of the Watcher’s Council they walked straight into a major argument.
“I go away for half a day-” Giles was saying, sounding equal parts exhausted and angry, and Buffy cut him off, furious.
“Oh don’t you dare go all Patriarchy on me. If we hadn’t tried to get Angel back we wouldn’t know any of this, and wouldn’t have uncovered her real agenda!”
“Hey!” Eve interjected. “I’m not the bad guy here. I’ve done nothing except help you. And half your people have tried destroying the world, why-”
She turned to see who was interrupting them, and her eyes widened.
The next second she was striding across the foyer.
“Adam! What are you doing here? And what the hell are you wearing? Is this what passes for a uniform at Eton?”
Adam raised his chin, defiant.
“It’s the summer holidays, I can wear what I want. And besides you’re human now Spike says, why should I listen to you?”
A second later Eve’s hand flashed forward, slapping him soundly across the face.
“Don’t you dare! You know nothing about what I’ve been through!”
“I was all alone!” The boy had tears in his eyes now. “I thought you were dead. And there was no one to help me and I had no one to ask and everything was falling apart and Slayers were killing everyone and I thought they would come for me too…”
He looked like he was going to actually burst into tears, as Giles and Buffy appeared.
“So… who is this?” Giles asked, clearly wishing himself a hundred miles away, and Spike smirked. It was good to be back, and even better to be able to enjoy the mayhem properly.
“Well Rupert, allow me to introduce Adam. He’s a child of the Senior Partners, and incidentally Eve’s little brother.”
There was a long pause as Giles seemed to reboot his whole brain.
“Right then. But… why is he here?”
Spike blinked innocently. “He’s technically an orphan now. Surely you’d want to help him? Besides, I had a vision, as you may have heard. From the actual Powers That Be. We’re meant to be helping him.”
Buffy’s eyes had darted between the two of them, taking in Spike’s now gelled back hair, eyeliner and nail polish.
“Looks more like your little brother,” she remarked, and Spike grinned widely.
After working out that it was indeed ‘their’ Eve who was Adam’s brother they sat him down to have a proper chat, but within five minutes Connor was fast asleep.
“Jet lag,” Spike explained. “Just arrived from America this morning. Seems a shame to wake him, so I guess the family reunion will have to wait a bit…”
Glancing around the large room (as messy a teenager’s bedroom as could be found anywhere, posters of long haired rock bands adorning the walls and clothes casually distributed across the floor and furniture) his eyes hit on the substantial collection of make up, hair spray and other beauty products on the smaller of the desks.
“Hey, would you mind if I borrowed some nail polish?”
Adam looked surprised, but shook his head.
“Sure. Help yourself.”
“Thanks,” Spike replied, jumping to his feet and feeling not unlike a kid in a sweet shop.
“Say what you will about the world of humans, but when it comes to personal grooming your average hell dimension is severely lacking.”
“So… you been to a lot of hell dimensions recently?” Adam asked, and Spike chuckled.
“Too many to name, for ‘bout ten years. Not to be recommended. Oh, eyeliner — do you mind?”
“Go ahead. There’s a mirror over there…”
Spike raised an eyebrow.
“Vampire.”
“Oh yeah. But… how’d you do that without a mirror?”
“Watch and learn, junior.”
Unfortunately the kid wasn’t stupid, and after having admired Spike’s effortless way with the eyeliner and his expertise with hair gel, Adam carried on with the previous topic.
“So, like, if you like the world of humans so much, why’d you spend so long in demon dimensions?”
Spike shot him a sharp glance. The teenage trappings aside, the boy wasn’t thick. Sent to the world of humans to learns their ways and become a loyal tool to his ‘parents’, he still had to learn the ways of subtlety, but his instincts were on point.
“Well, since you’ll find out one way or another,” Spike started, as he began to do his nails, briefly sketching in their quest, and the outcome.
Blowing on the nails to dry them, he waited for Adam to respond.
“So this… was all you? Everything falling apart?”
“Yup. I’d say I was sorry, but Wolfram & Hart were evil bastards, so…”
He shrugged, feigning nonchalance, but was ready to spring into action should need be. Instead Adam turned completely silent for a long moment.
“I can do what I want,” he eventually said. “Like, I’m free…”
“That’s the spirit,” Spike encouraged. Look at the opportunities, not what had been lost. “So, what are you going to do with your newfound freedom?”
“For starters I’m not going back to fucking Eton,” Adam replied vehemently.
Looking over the black haired Mini Me across from him, Spike had to bite back a chuckle. Ah that heady rush of being able to do whatever you wanted, and screw the rules.
“Lemme guess, you don’t exactly fit in?”
“I hate them all!” the boy stated, with absolute finality. “They were all ‘future contacts’ and ‘valued clients’ so I had to be polite and pretend to like them and all that… But now…”
His eyes lit up with unmistakable glee, and Spike shook his head. Time to impart a little wisdom — he couldn’t claim to posses much, but he was pretty sure he knew exactly what was on the boy’s mind.
“Now then, the reason I earned my nickname — my real name is William — is because after I was turned I went round and used railroad spikes to torture all the pricks who’d been nasty to me when I was alive.”
Adam looked suitably impressed, but Spike held up a hand.
“Very messy, not recommended. And don’t rush off to curse anyone either, or whatever magical tricks you’ve got up your sleeve. If you’re lucky, they’ll already be panicking because all their shady dealings have gone belly-up. As I’m sure you know, people like that always care more about status and money than anything else. If you want revenge, go for the money, or humiliate them.”
“You’re not really what I expected a hero to be like…” Adam offered after a moment, and Spike grinned, wolf-like.
“Welcome to the real world. Let’s go see if your sister wants anything to do with you, yeah?”
At Buffy’s words, he slung an arm around Adam’s slender shoulders.
“There, see we could be brothers. You, me ’n Connor, eh?”
“The three musketeers?” Eve offered coldly, and Spike looked back innocently.
“If you like. Although I thought you’d be pleased I found your brother…”
She let her eyes rest on Adam for a long moment, and Spike wondered what on earth was going on in her head.
“Fine. But you’re washing your face young man.”
“Not a chance. I like looking like this. I didn’t ask for this body or this face, but I’ll do whatever the hell I like with it!”
“It seems a pretty harmless outlet for rebellion,” Connor added. “I locked my dad in a cage and dropped him at the bottom of the ocean… Angel I mean, not one of the others.”
“This,” Spike said happily, looking from Connor’s wry amusement to Adam’s defiant face, “Is a beautiful day.”
A second later all the windows shattered as a black-clad swat team burst through them into the tall foyer.
Buffy stared up at the heavy armed militia descending on long ropes and shook her head.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
Then she turned on Spike:
“Oh and this is 100% your fault. That was a perfect jinx.”
“Fair nuff,” he replied, drawing his sword.
Then Eve sighed, looking at them like they were all morons.
“How are you all so stupid? Do I have to do everything around here?”
Grasping the magic staff that Adam still clung to like a security blanket, she stepped forwards, holding it up.
“Please inform your leader know that we will see them, their safety is guaranteed.”
Half-turning, she quietly added: “Older demons can be extremely paranoid. These are private soldiers, hired for security purposes in order to secure the area — hopefully whoever-it-is should now feel safe enough to talk to us.”
“And the stick?” Buffy hissed.
“Official Wolfram and Hart magic apparatus. Again, it helps build trust.”
Glancing at Adam, she didn’t miss a chance for a getting her point across: “And this is why it is helpful to look smart and professional and not like you fell out of a Soho gay bar.”
“You can take the lawyer out of Wolfram & Hart…” Spike observed to no one in particular, and then they all turned to look at the enormously fat demon which was now trying to get through the doors.
It looked uncommonly like Jabba the Hutt, and Spike took a step back, and then another.
“Right, I’m going to skedaddle, this whole polite negotiation is really not my forte…”
Many hours later, the luminescent London night’s sky above him, Spike was on the roof of the Council, having a quiet cigarette, legs dangling over the side. The roof was flat, with raised edges, and he wondered if the bitty Slayers used it for training.
He’d disappeared again, needing to sort himself out properly; take stock, work out what to do next. He’d eventually returned to the Council, but one look at the monks which were filing in through the front door made him head for the roof.
Someone must have told Buffy where he was, because after a little while she turned up, quietly appearing beside him.
“You… OK?” she asked cautiously, clearly still wondering exactly where they were after their big fight this morning, and he nodded.
“Yeah. Yeah I think I’m good. You?”
She nodded, even if her body language showed that she was obviously still not very comfortable.
“Been better, but yeah. OK I guess.”
Angel’s name hung unspoken between them.
It almost seemed like a dream — a ten year long nightmare with a few bright points (like Venka), but it all blurred, looking back. All he remembered was Angel; Angel grumpy, Angel happy, Angel impatient and bored and frustrated and Angel having his back, always.
Like back in the day; the two of them bickering and fighting and arguing over how and who to kill and the girls rolling their eyes…
He still expected him to be there, opening his mouth to say something cutting and then realising that Angel wouldn’t be there to hear it. Like a phantom limb.
“Do you think The First will get me too when I die?” he asked speculatively, before turning to look at Buffy and taking one final drag of the fag. “I did stop it from rising, that should do it, right? Make it personal enough for it to go for me.”
He seemed to have rendered Buffy speechless once again. But she’d wanted him to talk so… he talked. If it wasn’t what she wanted to hear, well, he couldn’t help that.
“It’d make it easier to bear if I knew we wouldn’t be alone forever — that’s what destroys you, not the torture.”
A beat, then he continued.
“I just wish I knew. Angel once told me he never escaped from hell, just got a reprieve… Did I tell you that already? Anyway, I guess that’s one reason I told you not to try to get him back. He always knew what was coming.”
He flicked the now dead cigarette end into the air, watching as it tumbled through the air and then leaning forwards to see if he managed to hit anyone on the head far, far below.
Buffy grasped hold of his sleeve:
“Stop. You will fall!”
“Fallen further, still here,” he replied, then abruptly turned around completely, taking her face in his hands and studying her. The half light couldn’t hide her beauty, nor the worry and grief that he could see so clearly, and that he had stubbornly ignored whilst trying to work out what to do, lost inside himself.
“But I think I’ve worked it out now. The Shanshu was obviously bollocks, but I have this.” He spread his hand out to encompass the city scape spread out around them, as far as the eyes could see. “This world — you — are my reprieve. I’ll meet a dusty end at some point, but until then… Until then, this’ll do me just fine.”
She was shaking her head. “How can you talk like that?”
“Told you once before, remember?” He raised an eyebrow at her. “I like this world. You've got... dog racing, Manchester United…”
A smile began sneaking onto her face.
“And people like Happy Meals on legs? Yeah. I remember.”
“Seems like life-times ago,” he said, drifting off point again, remembering that first truce and the events that had led up to it. “I hated him so much. Can’t believe he’s gone, y’know? He was just always there. Me an’ him — the perfect double act. Been everything to each other.” Raised an eyebrow, smiling at the horizon. “Done everything…”
“Every thing?” Buffy asked, hesitating, and he glanced at her. Surely it couldn’t be that much of a curveball?
“Yes even that… Once. One night. Guess that’s something else we’ve got in common — one time with Angel.”
Seeing the look on her face, he decided to change the subject. Especially as he didn’t quite know how to describe that night himself.
“Anyway, it was years ago. And not the point I wanted to make. See I’ve been thinking.”
She waited, unsure, and he looked her dead in the eye, hope and fear warring inside him:
“I’ve made a decision — I’m going to LA to re-establish Angel Investigations. So I was wonderin’ — d’you wanna come with?”
Chapter 31 on LJ
Chapter 31 on DW
no subject
no subject
I have OCs turning up everywhere, but I hope that's okay - they're not really planned, but I knew I needed Spike's first 'mission' to be somehow personally relevant, and Adam just... grew. ;)
no subject
Interesting choice, to have Angel as the vision-keeper. I'll think on that.
Spike does need family. If Conner is up for the job, it could be good for both of them.
That last question was quite a cliffhanger, you meanie. Buffy's been through a lot in the past few months, he's sort of been ignoring her, things are crazy in London just now, plus there's grieving. I hope the invitation is open-ended, because she may need some time to evaluate the offer.
Whew. That was a whirlwind. Well done, m'dear.
no subject
I couldn't have left him like he was, poor thing. He's been... not good for a long time. Since before he found Dru and since then it's just been nonstop. *pets him*
Interesting choice, to have Angel as the vision-keeper. I'll think on that.
Not so much 'keeper' as 'passing on-er'. Um, that's totally a thing. ;)
Spike does need family. If Conner is up for the job, it could be good for both of them.
IKR? And Connor is probably the most together of all of them.
That last question was quite a cliffhanger, you meanie. Buffy's been through a lot in the past few months, he's sort of been ignoring her, things are crazy in London just now, plus there's grieving. I hope the invitation is open-ended, because she may need some time to evaluate the offer.
I like my cliff-hangers. >:) But yes, it's quite the curve-ball to have thrown in her lap at this point.
Whew. That was a whirlwind. Well done, m'dear.
*beams* Thank you! It's was a v fun chapter to write (Adam evolved from a couple of almost throw-way lines to a proper character once I realised he could be Eve's sister), all the rest was pretty much there already in my original outline. Next chapter... *throws hands up* Wish me luck! I know how it ends, the rest is a mess.