Entry tags:
Fic: Divided Destiny. Chapter 31
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.
Most of this chapter didn't exist before Tuesday this week (except as a vague outline as to what needed to happen). Hope you like...
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): 4800 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 31
For a long moment, Buffy wasn’t sure she had heard right. Spike was going to LA to re-establish Angel’s detective firm and asking…
“You want me to… work for you?”
He looked surprised.
“Huh? No, you just do your Slayer thing. Um, lemme explain… So, first of all London’s obviously home, and’s nice to be here and all, but you’ve also got more Slayers than you know what to do with, so I think I should go somewhere I could make an actual difference. And I got my visions to guide me, see?”
A grin, wider than she had seen in forever followed the words.
“Plus, LA needs the help, spent long enough hanging around to get more than a passing acquaintance with the lowlives there. Secondly, there’s still the hotel. I’m pretty sure it’s mine now. Well, mine or Connor’s I guess, but I can’t imagine what he’d do with it, or that he’d mind me using it. So, that’s somewhere to live. Third — do you really want to stay here? Don’t you miss California?”
She took a moment to reply.
“You’ve really thought this through.”
“Like I’ve told you before, I’m more than just a pretty face,” he smirked. “But, Buffy…”
His face turned serious. “Remember what you told me in Pylea?”
“Yeah,” she said softly, “I remember.”
Words yelled in anger and frustration, words she had (for the past year and a half) wished had been more polished, more eloquent, and not borne out of such dire circumstances. Words she had clung to while he was gone, like the amulet around her neck, words that meant that he knew how she felt; that no matter how long he disappeared for, he’d not think that she was only waiting for him to get a heartbeat.
“See I thought… we could try?” he said, voice oddly tentative. “Try to have an actual relationship, y’know? The hotel is bloody enormous, we could have a proper little apartment, see if we could actually function as a real couple. If… that is what you want?”
His eyes were large and vulnerable, all the fury of that morning (as well as the avoidance of the past week) thoroughly gone. He was… asking her to move in with him.
The strange enormity of the moment suddenly hit her. He was back, properly back, and he was staying.
“Spike…” she said simply, reaching out and taking his hand; instinctively he leaned into her and suddenly there was no space between them at all — her lips on his, her hands tangling in his hair, his hands pulling her flush against him, sneaking under her clothes, and oh god, it had been for literally ever-
***
“Adam — I asked you to fetch Buffy. Wasn’t she there?”
Giles sounded irritable, and Adam sighed. They wouldn’t let him do any magic or help in any way except make tea and run errands, and he was bored out of his mind, despite only having been there for half a day. Why hadn’t he brought his Playstation?
This time he’d been sent off to the roof, where Spike had been seen heading, followed by Buffy. And since her Slayerness was needed for something terribly important, obviously Adam had to go fetch her.
Except…
“Oh she was there,” he replied flippantly. “Spike too.”
As he didn’t continue, Giles eventually bothered to actually look at him. Old and tweed-clad and constantly grumpy, it was like being back at Eton.
“And? Why didn’t you bring her?”
Adam inspected his nails. He’d chipped the nail polish on one of them, he’d need to fix that. After waiting for a suitable amount of time he glanced up, studied Giles from under his eyelashes.
“Well they were… preoccupied. If you get my drift.”
He tried and failed to keep the glee out of his voice, and was thrilled as he saw understanding dawning on Giles’ face. The Watcher pulled off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing deeply.
“I see.”
“Maybe I should get a vampire boyfriend,” Adam mused. “They look really limber…”
Since he wasn’t human it’d be perfectly safe, and vampires were, like, quite kinky? Oh and he might get the vampire to harass/kill the worst of his former classmates and then the Slayers could stake it — perfect.
He was exceedingly pleased with his plan when his sister’s voice cut through his thoughts.
“Not a chance. You are way too young for starters.”
“What, so you’re allowed to shag vamps, but I’m not?”
Grabbing hold of his arm, she dragged him from the office.
“Mystical influence,” she hissed. “And I’m beginning to think this is not a good environment for a teenager.”
“There’s nothing but teenagers here,” he protested, waving a hand towards a cohort of Slayers walking past. So damn fit (way, way better than the posh drips Eton students dated), except they were all older than him and wouldn’t even give him the time of day. (A Slayer girlfriend would be even better than a vampire boyfriend, but so far it looked sadly unlikely.)
“I noticed,” Eve replied frostily. “One more day and it’ll be you up on the roof with one of them I’m sure. Too many hormones, I should just lock you up.”
His eyes narrowed.
“You send me back to Eton and I swear, I’ll kill someone.”
She looked at him with ill-concealed exasperation.
“No, not Eton. However, it’s not like you have any friends here… So, maybe, if I’m truly stuck with you, we should just move back to LA. I still have a flat there. And with Wolfram & Hart gone, I might be able to use some of my old contacts.”
“LA sounds cool,” he replied, for the first time in an age feeling something like excitement. Sun and beaches and film stars… Yeah, he could go for that.
***
Spike set off for LA a few days later. Connor had offered that they could travel together, but Spike wasn’t keen on going on a plane — for starters he didn’t have a passport, airports were full of glass and he would prefer to avoid combusting, and he still had contacts on the docks, so smuggling himself onto a boat wasn’t going to be problem.
No, arranging travel was not the problem (even if he dearly wished Illyria had been there to whip up a portal) — the problem was travelling alone.
No Illyria to bitch about how she was above such travel-arrangements, no Angel to get antsy and irritable, before beginning to talk out of sheer boredom…
This was no good.
He tried to force himself to think about practicalities; how the hell did you go about setting up a detective agency? How exactly had Angel done… any of it? At the beginning, back when Spike had looked him up (and tortured him, but hey, that was all water under the bridge) Angel’d had that pointy-faced Irish guy, and Cordelia. He presumed Cordelia had looked after the money, and there had to be money in the gig, or Cordelia would have been out the door in no time flat. Had they advertised? He couldn’t imagine Angel doing something that crass, yet they had to have been bringing in the punters in some way…
Everything led back to Angel, it was literally a nightmare.
OK, hotel. Start with the base. Get some business cards printed? Do something online maybe? Yes, that would make sense. People with supernatural problems were more likely to look up stuff on the internet than go to the police. Wished he could’ve asked Andrew for help, but the boy was still working round the clock to sort out Wolfram & Hart related problems… He sighed. Connor maybe? He was young, and would presumably know how to set up that kind of stuff. But would they have to set up an actual business? With a bank account? Why hadn’t he listened when Angel had talked about stuff?
And back he was to Angel, like a boomerang returning to hit him every time he tried to get rid of it… But the hold in the belly of the boat was dark, and he only had his own thoughts to keep him company.
Then (almost to his relief) an excruciating vision blanked out all his planning, and he went to save the chef from some demon eggs which were about to hatch. The upshot was the he spent the rest of the journey in the galley, happily avoiding his ghosts.
After they got to New York he hitchhiked across the country, distracting himself by talking to the truck drivers who picked him up as well as the occasional brawl, which worked great until he got to LA.
The Hyperion wouldn’t let him forget.
The Hyperion towered over him and he felt like he was drowning.
Wesley and Gunn’s graves to the side (Cyvus Vail’s bones now in a small heap on the ground), and if he closed his eyes he could still see Drusilla dancing out into the sunshine, feel Angel’s arms around him…
He stood there, helpless against his memories, his hands curling into fists.
This was why he’d come alone. He needed to face this on his own and then somehow build a future. Needed to say his goodbyes, make peace with the past and the loss that still cut him too deep for words.
No more hiding.
He lifted his chin. He was William the Bloody, slayer of Slayers, defeater of the First Evil, Champion(™). He could do this.
***
Two days later Nina received a phone call.
When she heard Spike’s voice she almost put the phone down immediately, but fighting against the sudden lurch in her stomach she managed to reply. It had been nearly three weeks since he’d called last, letting her know that Angel hadn’t made it. And although she had expected it, it had still knocked her so badly that she still wasn’t quite sure how to cope.
Her sister and her friends had been lovely and supportive, but there were so many things she couldn’t tell them. She had spun a whole web of lies, and now she didn’t have a clue how to untangle it. How to explain what she really was, what he had been, what his mission had entailed…
And it wasn’t that she blamed Spike, but he had been the one to call, the one still alive-
Deep breath Nina, you can do this.
After she had established that Spike was back in LA, she said she’d come see him. By the tone of his voice, she figured that maybe this was what he had wanted all along.
Returning to the Hyperion was daunting, even as she knew she couldn’t have avoided it much longer — the moon was getting fuller with every day, and her cage was in the basement. And she had nowhere else to go.
She found Spike in Angel’s room, sitting on the floor, his back against the bed, silent.
When he finally looked up, he just shook his head.
“I was going to pack stuff up,” he said. “But I can’t. I saw him burn, I know he’s gone, but…”
A long pause.
“S why I called you. What do you want to do with it?”
She grasped the strap on her shoulder bag harder, looked around. The rooms had become familiar, homely. Angel had hung some of her sketches on the wall, his clothes were still in the wardrobe, there was a bottle of her perfume on the bedside table…
She felt tears well up (how many times could she cry, would she ever stop?) and shook her head.
“Just leave it,” she whispered. “Please. Don’t change a thing.”
As her voice broke, she realised his arms were already around her (vampire speed — did anyone ever get used to it?), and she finally cried with someone who actually understood what she had lost.
After she had blown her nose and tried to tidy herself up a bit, he made them both tea. The kitchen was bare, the fridge empty, but he had tea and milk. Maybe it was a British thing?
She should ask about the final journey, about what had happened, about… Angel’s death.
But then Spike fixed her with a candid look.
“So. Don’t suppose you know anything about running a detective agency?”
“Detective agency?” she repeated, thrown, and he dragged a hand through his hair.
“Well, something like that. Private investigator. ‘S what Angel did before the evil law firm, but I’ve not exactly done anything like it before. I’m currently at the point of thinking maybe I should just buy a deerstalker and a pipe and ham it up like Sherlock Holmes.”
She studied him over the rim of the tea cup, and thought about her current waitressing job (instant fame and international exhibitions had somehow not followed graduation) and the fact that she had lost touch with the world of demons and all things supernatural since — since Angel had left. She hadn’t known anyone except his people, and didn’t know where to look. There was Buffy, but she was in Europe…
“Do you need help?” she asked. “Could you make a living that way?”
Blue eyes met hers, surprised and with sudden focus.
“Yes. And… I bloody well hope so. You see-”
Then he dropped his cup and screamed, clutching his head.
By the time she was beside him, whatever-it-was seemed to be over and he managed to focus on her, teeth bared in a feral grin.
“Oh yeah, and I get visions from the Powers That Be now, should probably have mentioned that. Although so far, none of them have been about how to set up a business…”
Despite herself she smiled. This was that madness she remembered. And ‘I took a job with a private investigator who looks into supernatural things’ might be a useful starting point for one day telling her sister the truth about herself — and Angel.
Her beautiful Angel, the best (and worst) man she had ever known.
***
In the end, Connor stayed in England for a whole month. He’d offered to travel back with Spike (despite having only just arrived), but Spike had shaken his head.
“Appreciate the offer, but apart from all the practical reasons… This is something I need to do on my own.”
Connor understood the sentiment; he’d only spent half a day with Spike, but the whirlwind of those hours (the talk in the kitchen, the spell to get Angel back and the aftermath, the mission to save Adam) was already more to work through than he had anticipated. So he stayed with the Slayers, helping out and learning to appreciate the mindset behind a sacred calling; young women for whom fighting was a way of life, with traditions and guidelines running back to prehistory. He found the approach satisfyingly structured (despite the appearance of mayhem when he’d first turned up) and ultimately helpful in figuring out his own approach. And it didn’t hurt that they were all very fit, and welcomed him more or less as one of their own.
When he returned to LA he went to look up Spike, and found him in the process of setting up as a private investigator.
Spike was already in touch with Nina and Lorne — the latter had various shady contacts — and between them they had managed to cobble together something not entirely unlike an actual business. Nina was surprisingly savvy for an artist, and was the one keeping on top of the budget and the accounts.
Connor wasn’t quite sure what he could contribute, but Spike was thrilled to see him and seemed a lot more calm than that morning in London.
Since Connor still had a good bit of his holidays left he offered to help out, but after moving into the Hyperion realised why Spike had needed the alone time. The place was crowded with ghosts, every place he turned filled with reminders of the past that had been ‘written over’. Gritting his teeth he decided that this had to be part of it. He could never hope to deal with his past without facing it head-on. Besides, Spike really needed another fighter.
One night they went out for a drink with Lorne — which turned into far too many — but Spike got talking to a warlock on the next table, bonding over their tastes in music before ending up ‘talking shop’, the unlikely (but very fortuitous) upshot being that he agreed to undo the big spell on the hotel, in return for a portrait from Nina.
With Wolfram & Hart gone the spell was no longer necessary (and indeed was somewhat of a hindrance since they literally couldn’t get customers through the door) and Willow was very happy to let someone else do the hard work — she had been meaning to teleport across in order to ‘do it properly’, but she kept getting delayed with other issues, and if this guy could do it, all the better.
As it turned out, the warlock was so pleased with his portrait that Nina began to build herself quite a following from the more refined echelons of demon society, her wolfiness a bonus rather than a drawback. Demons who were unlikely to sit for a human painter had no qualms about a werewolf, and even if she complained that portraiture wasn’t her forte, she wasn’t about to turn down such a lucrative opportunity.
And then Spike had a vision which led him to rescue a guy who turned out to be a website designer, and Connor felt that maybe the whole thing would turn out OK. Not that he didn’t trust Spike, but he seemed to sort of make it up as he went along, and Connor (the child of careful planners many times over) had felt a little uncertain as to how it would all work out.
Even so, he stayed out his summer holidays in LA, mostly helping Spike kill things. He was beginning to feel more comfortable in his own skin, the violence (and the past) more integrated and natural; which didn’t sound like it should be a good thing, but was. This way he could not just control it, but use it.
He hoped Angel would be proud.
***
Moving was strange.
Buffy hadn’t had any belongings when she’d first gone to Europe, and moving from Rome to London had been fairly straightforward. It had been more of a relocation, based on practicalities.
But moving to LA… Moving to LA with Spike, in order to move in together — it seemed somehow too far-fetched. Like, was this real? She had never lived with a guy, always had her own space, her own place, and what if it didn’t work out? What if an actual relationship proved too difficult? What if-?
They were both tip-toeing, tentatively working out what the new parameters were. She had taken almost two months to finally get herself back across to America — officially because the fallout from Wolfram & Hart’s collapse kept generating more issues, unofficially because she needed time to make sure she was making the right decision. The sex on the roof had been amazing (they were Good At Sex), but A Proper Relationship was something else and Spike had been very careful not to push her one way or another.
But when she had finally arrived, and then began dithering over which rooms to choose, he had almost lost his cool.
“Buffy, just choose a room already. We can always switch if you change your mind. We both have super powers, it’s not like moving the furniture is going to be a problem.”
“What if it doesn’t work?” she replied, her worries tumbling out. “You and me? What if we argue all the time? What if-”
He stopped her by taking hold of her arms and kissing her soundly.
“We won’t find out unless we try,” he said, watching her intently. “No one’s ever done this before, okay? And quite frankly after ten years of hell dimensions with Angel and Illyria… you’ll have to try very very hard to put me off.”
“You say the sweetest things,” she replied, and he brightened.
“Does that mean-”
“No, no troll head.”
“Compromise is a bitch,” he reluctantly acquiesced.
***
Adam wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but LA hadn’t magically made all his problems go away.
If he was honest with himself, he was still not sure what to make of this new world, where he would be able to choose his own future. All he had known was duty, his own wishes and desires nothing but an afterthought, and of no importance to those who had brought him into the world.
The earth beneath his feet might as well have rolled itself up and disappeared for all he knew what to do with himself. He’d seen how the Slayers, the Watchers looked at him — was he just an evil thing? His sole purpose had been to help uphold a status quo which was now nonexistent.
Was this how they all felt? All the creatures and lawyers and ‘monsters’ whose lives had been bought and owned by Wolfram & Hart? Was this why so many of them threw themselves on the Slayers’ swords?
Where was there to go now for someone like him?
To his sister’s dismay he started hanging out with a demon biker gang (that breathtaking ride through London, clinging onto Spike and Connor, still etched on his memory), but for better or worse his involvement was cut short one night when they had a bust-up with another gang, interrupted by two blondes in long black coats.
It took several awestruck moments before Adam realised that it was Spike and Buffy, and without hesitation he stabbed the nearest gang member in the back.
When the battle was done he bounded across the dead bodies, happier than he had been for weeks. The fight had been mesmerising, the two of them fighting with perfect synchronicity; two black figures moving as one, tearing a bloody swathe through the demon onslaught, and Adam had wished he could have filmed it so he could watch it over and over.
“Where are you going? Can I help?”
Buffy didn’t look pleased, but Spike grinned and slapped him on the shoulder.
“Hey kid, didn’t know you were in town. And you know what — I think you are just the guy I need.”
***
The next day Buffy checked up on her fellow Slayers (it had been a quiet night apart from the demon biker fight), perfuncturally tidied the apartment, put some washing in the washer, went grocery shopping and checked the messages on the machine (two automated messages from cold callers and something that might be a case) — she wrote down the details of the possible case, since Nina was busy with a commission and wouldn’t be in for the next few days, and then began wondering exactly where Spike was. Leaving the housekeeping to her was par for the course (and the cause of most of their arguments, their relationship so far almost ridiculously ‘normal’), but he usually resurfaced the second someone mentioned the word ‘client’.
Somewhat to her surprise he was pretty good at selling his services, flirting quite shamelessly with humans and demons alike if he thought it’d get him a bigger tip, and Buffy tried her best to stay out of it except when he explicitly asked for help — usually just with killing things, like the night before, and it tended to be vision-related, not paid work.
He would grumble that it was very inconvenient for Illyria to have disappeared the way she had, he could really do with another fighter — and would then immediately add that he didn’t mean that Buffy had to step up; trying to work it out, she came to the conclusion that he didn’t want to feel beholden to her. It seemed very important to him that he had his own mission.
He wasn’t earning a lot so far, but with time that would hopefully change. The shift from inter-dimensional travel to something approximating a settled job was still a work in progress, but generally he didn’t disappear…
Unable to locate him in any of his usual hiding places, Buffy eventually made her way down into the basement of the Hyperion. There seemed to be… bleating?
As her eyes got used to the gloom, she saw Spike and Adam busy with painting symbols on the floor, magical paraphernalia on a table by the wall — and a small goat tied up.
“What exactly are you doing?” she asked cautiously, and Spike looked up.
“Told you I was going to try to get hold of Illyria.”
“You didn’t say you were going to sacrifice a goat!”
“If you know a better way…” he replied, then — taking note of the look on her face — handed the brush to Adam:
“Finish that off will you junior?”
Buffy folded her arms, trying to work out how to tackle the myriad issues she had.
“And why is he helping?”
“Well, we had a good chat last night, after you’d gone to bed. I remembered him saying something about how he’d like to be a witch, back when we were in London, and he has a pretty good base knowledge already. Figured this’d be good training.”
“For a teenager?”
“He ain’t human. He’ll need a profession that’ll last him. And I could do with a magic user. ”
“But... ritual sacrifice?”
Looking up at her, where she was standing on the stairs, Spike had that intensely stubborn look on his face again.
“The boy will be fine, he’s only helping. Buffy, I need to do this. If this doesn’t work, nothing will. And unlike little Andrew and his online acolytes — I believe in her. I’ve seen what she can do.”
He’d brought up Illyria more frequently as the weeks went on. Wondering what exactly had happened to her. Where she’d gotten to. Why hadn’t she returned?
But they were still sidestepping the elephant in the room.
“So… what? It was pointless for me to look for Angel, but slaughtering goats for Illyria is A-OK?”
They hadn’t broached the subject much, but he didn’t flinch or try to avoid the topic.
“Angel was… different. We were expecting it to be the end of the line. But Illyria is a god. Old Ones don’t die. If anything it’s the opposite — I don’t want to save her, I’m wondering if she can help us.”
A beat, as he pursed his lips, hesitating.
“Besides, and I’m not exactly proud of this, but Angel would probably be pleased that I paid some attention — being descended from The Order of Aurelius I might have a bit of an advantage over the average newly converted human.”
This was going from zero to one hundred in no time flat. She had no idea what he was talking about.
“Say what?”
“The Order of Aurelius? The Master? My great-great-granddaddy, I hear you met? You had a mutual killing spree? And I offed his annoying little offspring?”
“Sure, but-”
Spike tilted his head, eyes narrowing.
“Figured Giles would’ve explained this, but I guess you were sixteen, so maybe he didn’t bother. The Order of Aurelius was dedicated to worshipping the Old Ones, and The Master’s great plan was to bring ‘em back. Fuck knows why, he’d probably get eaten considerin’ how Illyria used to treat us, but hey, any port in a storm. Look, I even painted our symbol!”
He pointed to a circle within which was a sun with three stars.
There was a point at which she just abdicated, and this was it. Looking across at the teenager, she resigned herself to what was happening.
“You going to be okay Adam?” she asked, feeling that she needed to somehow be the responsible one, and he grinned.
“Not my first time sacrificing a goat. This was like… what I did in nursery. Evil nursery.”
Despite telling herself to just leave them to it, she stayed. Illyria was a strange unknown quantity and Spike’s attachment was… odd. His ties to Angel were understandable, but Illyria? No, she didn’t get it.
But, if something went wrong they could probably do with a hand. She had a sneaking suspicion that ‘contacting a Hell God’ wouldn’t be as straightforward as Spike obviously hoped.
Chapter 32 on LJ
Chapter 32 on DW
Can also be found on AO3.
Most of this chapter didn't exist before Tuesday this week (except as a vague outline as to what needed to happen). Hope you like...
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): 4800 words
Setting and Summary: As before. (Post-NFA epic quest thing.)
Beta: The ever wonderful
kathyhFor a long moment, Buffy wasn’t sure she had heard right. Spike was going to LA to re-establish Angel’s detective firm and asking…
“You want me to… work for you?”
He looked surprised.
“Huh? No, you just do your Slayer thing. Um, lemme explain… So, first of all London’s obviously home, and’s nice to be here and all, but you’ve also got more Slayers than you know what to do with, so I think I should go somewhere I could make an actual difference. And I got my visions to guide me, see?”
A grin, wider than she had seen in forever followed the words.
“Plus, LA needs the help, spent long enough hanging around to get more than a passing acquaintance with the lowlives there. Secondly, there’s still the hotel. I’m pretty sure it’s mine now. Well, mine or Connor’s I guess, but I can’t imagine what he’d do with it, or that he’d mind me using it. So, that’s somewhere to live. Third — do you really want to stay here? Don’t you miss California?”
She took a moment to reply.
“You’ve really thought this through.”
“Like I’ve told you before, I’m more than just a pretty face,” he smirked. “But, Buffy…”
His face turned serious. “Remember what you told me in Pylea?”
“Yeah,” she said softly, “I remember.”
Words yelled in anger and frustration, words she had (for the past year and a half) wished had been more polished, more eloquent, and not borne out of such dire circumstances. Words she had clung to while he was gone, like the amulet around her neck, words that meant that he knew how she felt; that no matter how long he disappeared for, he’d not think that she was only waiting for him to get a heartbeat.
“See I thought… we could try?” he said, voice oddly tentative. “Try to have an actual relationship, y’know? The hotel is bloody enormous, we could have a proper little apartment, see if we could actually function as a real couple. If… that is what you want?”
His eyes were large and vulnerable, all the fury of that morning (as well as the avoidance of the past week) thoroughly gone. He was… asking her to move in with him.
The strange enormity of the moment suddenly hit her. He was back, properly back, and he was staying.
“Spike…” she said simply, reaching out and taking his hand; instinctively he leaned into her and suddenly there was no space between them at all — her lips on his, her hands tangling in his hair, his hands pulling her flush against him, sneaking under her clothes, and oh god, it had been for literally ever-
“Adam — I asked you to fetch Buffy. Wasn’t she there?”
Giles sounded irritable, and Adam sighed. They wouldn’t let him do any magic or help in any way except make tea and run errands, and he was bored out of his mind, despite only having been there for half a day. Why hadn’t he brought his Playstation?
This time he’d been sent off to the roof, where Spike had been seen heading, followed by Buffy. And since her Slayerness was needed for something terribly important, obviously Adam had to go fetch her.
Except…
“Oh she was there,” he replied flippantly. “Spike too.”
As he didn’t continue, Giles eventually bothered to actually look at him. Old and tweed-clad and constantly grumpy, it was like being back at Eton.
“And? Why didn’t you bring her?”
Adam inspected his nails. He’d chipped the nail polish on one of them, he’d need to fix that. After waiting for a suitable amount of time he glanced up, studied Giles from under his eyelashes.
“Well they were… preoccupied. If you get my drift.”
He tried and failed to keep the glee out of his voice, and was thrilled as he saw understanding dawning on Giles’ face. The Watcher pulled off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing deeply.
“I see.”
“Maybe I should get a vampire boyfriend,” Adam mused. “They look really limber…”
Since he wasn’t human it’d be perfectly safe, and vampires were, like, quite kinky? Oh and he might get the vampire to harass/kill the worst of his former classmates and then the Slayers could stake it — perfect.
He was exceedingly pleased with his plan when his sister’s voice cut through his thoughts.
“Not a chance. You are way too young for starters.”
“What, so you’re allowed to shag vamps, but I’m not?”
Grabbing hold of his arm, she dragged him from the office.
“Mystical influence,” she hissed. “And I’m beginning to think this is not a good environment for a teenager.”
“There’s nothing but teenagers here,” he protested, waving a hand towards a cohort of Slayers walking past. So damn fit (way, way better than the posh drips Eton students dated), except they were all older than him and wouldn’t even give him the time of day. (A Slayer girlfriend would be even better than a vampire boyfriend, but so far it looked sadly unlikely.)
“I noticed,” Eve replied frostily. “One more day and it’ll be you up on the roof with one of them I’m sure. Too many hormones, I should just lock you up.”
His eyes narrowed.
“You send me back to Eton and I swear, I’ll kill someone.”
She looked at him with ill-concealed exasperation.
“No, not Eton. However, it’s not like you have any friends here… So, maybe, if I’m truly stuck with you, we should just move back to LA. I still have a flat there. And with Wolfram & Hart gone, I might be able to use some of my old contacts.”
“LA sounds cool,” he replied, for the first time in an age feeling something like excitement. Sun and beaches and film stars… Yeah, he could go for that.
Spike set off for LA a few days later. Connor had offered that they could travel together, but Spike wasn’t keen on going on a plane — for starters he didn’t have a passport, airports were full of glass and he would prefer to avoid combusting, and he still had contacts on the docks, so smuggling himself onto a boat wasn’t going to be problem.
No, arranging travel was not the problem (even if he dearly wished Illyria had been there to whip up a portal) — the problem was travelling alone.
No Illyria to bitch about how she was above such travel-arrangements, no Angel to get antsy and irritable, before beginning to talk out of sheer boredom…
This was no good.
He tried to force himself to think about practicalities; how the hell did you go about setting up a detective agency? How exactly had Angel done… any of it? At the beginning, back when Spike had looked him up (and tortured him, but hey, that was all water under the bridge) Angel’d had that pointy-faced Irish guy, and Cordelia. He presumed Cordelia had looked after the money, and there had to be money in the gig, or Cordelia would have been out the door in no time flat. Had they advertised? He couldn’t imagine Angel doing something that crass, yet they had to have been bringing in the punters in some way…
Everything led back to Angel, it was literally a nightmare.
OK, hotel. Start with the base. Get some business cards printed? Do something online maybe? Yes, that would make sense. People with supernatural problems were more likely to look up stuff on the internet than go to the police. Wished he could’ve asked Andrew for help, but the boy was still working round the clock to sort out Wolfram & Hart related problems… He sighed. Connor maybe? He was young, and would presumably know how to set up that kind of stuff. But would they have to set up an actual business? With a bank account? Why hadn’t he listened when Angel had talked about stuff?
And back he was to Angel, like a boomerang returning to hit him every time he tried to get rid of it… But the hold in the belly of the boat was dark, and he only had his own thoughts to keep him company.
Then (almost to his relief) an excruciating vision blanked out all his planning, and he went to save the chef from some demon eggs which were about to hatch. The upshot was the he spent the rest of the journey in the galley, happily avoiding his ghosts.
After they got to New York he hitchhiked across the country, distracting himself by talking to the truck drivers who picked him up as well as the occasional brawl, which worked great until he got to LA.
The Hyperion wouldn’t let him forget.
The Hyperion towered over him and he felt like he was drowning.
Wesley and Gunn’s graves to the side (Cyvus Vail’s bones now in a small heap on the ground), and if he closed his eyes he could still see Drusilla dancing out into the sunshine, feel Angel’s arms around him…
He stood there, helpless against his memories, his hands curling into fists.
This was why he’d come alone. He needed to face this on his own and then somehow build a future. Needed to say his goodbyes, make peace with the past and the loss that still cut him too deep for words.
No more hiding.
He lifted his chin. He was William the Bloody, slayer of Slayers, defeater of the First Evil, Champion(™). He could do this.
Two days later Nina received a phone call.
When she heard Spike’s voice she almost put the phone down immediately, but fighting against the sudden lurch in her stomach she managed to reply. It had been nearly three weeks since he’d called last, letting her know that Angel hadn’t made it. And although she had expected it, it had still knocked her so badly that she still wasn’t quite sure how to cope.
Her sister and her friends had been lovely and supportive, but there were so many things she couldn’t tell them. She had spun a whole web of lies, and now she didn’t have a clue how to untangle it. How to explain what she really was, what he had been, what his mission had entailed…
And it wasn’t that she blamed Spike, but he had been the one to call, the one still alive-
Deep breath Nina, you can do this.
After she had established that Spike was back in LA, she said she’d come see him. By the tone of his voice, she figured that maybe this was what he had wanted all along.
Returning to the Hyperion was daunting, even as she knew she couldn’t have avoided it much longer — the moon was getting fuller with every day, and her cage was in the basement. And she had nowhere else to go.
She found Spike in Angel’s room, sitting on the floor, his back against the bed, silent.
When he finally looked up, he just shook his head.
“I was going to pack stuff up,” he said. “But I can’t. I saw him burn, I know he’s gone, but…”
A long pause.
“S why I called you. What do you want to do with it?”
She grasped the strap on her shoulder bag harder, looked around. The rooms had become familiar, homely. Angel had hung some of her sketches on the wall, his clothes were still in the wardrobe, there was a bottle of her perfume on the bedside table…
She felt tears well up (how many times could she cry, would she ever stop?) and shook her head.
“Just leave it,” she whispered. “Please. Don’t change a thing.”
As her voice broke, she realised his arms were already around her (vampire speed — did anyone ever get used to it?), and she finally cried with someone who actually understood what she had lost.
After she had blown her nose and tried to tidy herself up a bit, he made them both tea. The kitchen was bare, the fridge empty, but he had tea and milk. Maybe it was a British thing?
She should ask about the final journey, about what had happened, about… Angel’s death.
But then Spike fixed her with a candid look.
“So. Don’t suppose you know anything about running a detective agency?”
“Detective agency?” she repeated, thrown, and he dragged a hand through his hair.
“Well, something like that. Private investigator. ‘S what Angel did before the evil law firm, but I’ve not exactly done anything like it before. I’m currently at the point of thinking maybe I should just buy a deerstalker and a pipe and ham it up like Sherlock Holmes.”
She studied him over the rim of the tea cup, and thought about her current waitressing job (instant fame and international exhibitions had somehow not followed graduation) and the fact that she had lost touch with the world of demons and all things supernatural since — since Angel had left. She hadn’t known anyone except his people, and didn’t know where to look. There was Buffy, but she was in Europe…
“Do you need help?” she asked. “Could you make a living that way?”
Blue eyes met hers, surprised and with sudden focus.
“Yes. And… I bloody well hope so. You see-”
Then he dropped his cup and screamed, clutching his head.
By the time she was beside him, whatever-it-was seemed to be over and he managed to focus on her, teeth bared in a feral grin.
“Oh yeah, and I get visions from the Powers That Be now, should probably have mentioned that. Although so far, none of them have been about how to set up a business…”
Despite herself she smiled. This was that madness she remembered. And ‘I took a job with a private investigator who looks into supernatural things’ might be a useful starting point for one day telling her sister the truth about herself — and Angel.
Her beautiful Angel, the best (and worst) man she had ever known.
In the end, Connor stayed in England for a whole month. He’d offered to travel back with Spike (despite having only just arrived), but Spike had shaken his head.
“Appreciate the offer, but apart from all the practical reasons… This is something I need to do on my own.”
Connor understood the sentiment; he’d only spent half a day with Spike, but the whirlwind of those hours (the talk in the kitchen, the spell to get Angel back and the aftermath, the mission to save Adam) was already more to work through than he had anticipated. So he stayed with the Slayers, helping out and learning to appreciate the mindset behind a sacred calling; young women for whom fighting was a way of life, with traditions and guidelines running back to prehistory. He found the approach satisfyingly structured (despite the appearance of mayhem when he’d first turned up) and ultimately helpful in figuring out his own approach. And it didn’t hurt that they were all very fit, and welcomed him more or less as one of their own.
When he returned to LA he went to look up Spike, and found him in the process of setting up as a private investigator.
Spike was already in touch with Nina and Lorne — the latter had various shady contacts — and between them they had managed to cobble together something not entirely unlike an actual business. Nina was surprisingly savvy for an artist, and was the one keeping on top of the budget and the accounts.
Connor wasn’t quite sure what he could contribute, but Spike was thrilled to see him and seemed a lot more calm than that morning in London.
Since Connor still had a good bit of his holidays left he offered to help out, but after moving into the Hyperion realised why Spike had needed the alone time. The place was crowded with ghosts, every place he turned filled with reminders of the past that had been ‘written over’. Gritting his teeth he decided that this had to be part of it. He could never hope to deal with his past without facing it head-on. Besides, Spike really needed another fighter.
One night they went out for a drink with Lorne — which turned into far too many — but Spike got talking to a warlock on the next table, bonding over their tastes in music before ending up ‘talking shop’, the unlikely (but very fortuitous) upshot being that he agreed to undo the big spell on the hotel, in return for a portrait from Nina.
With Wolfram & Hart gone the spell was no longer necessary (and indeed was somewhat of a hindrance since they literally couldn’t get customers through the door) and Willow was very happy to let someone else do the hard work — she had been meaning to teleport across in order to ‘do it properly’, but she kept getting delayed with other issues, and if this guy could do it, all the better.
As it turned out, the warlock was so pleased with his portrait that Nina began to build herself quite a following from the more refined echelons of demon society, her wolfiness a bonus rather than a drawback. Demons who were unlikely to sit for a human painter had no qualms about a werewolf, and even if she complained that portraiture wasn’t her forte, she wasn’t about to turn down such a lucrative opportunity.
And then Spike had a vision which led him to rescue a guy who turned out to be a website designer, and Connor felt that maybe the whole thing would turn out OK. Not that he didn’t trust Spike, but he seemed to sort of make it up as he went along, and Connor (the child of careful planners many times over) had felt a little uncertain as to how it would all work out.
Even so, he stayed out his summer holidays in LA, mostly helping Spike kill things. He was beginning to feel more comfortable in his own skin, the violence (and the past) more integrated and natural; which didn’t sound like it should be a good thing, but was. This way he could not just control it, but use it.
He hoped Angel would be proud.
Moving was strange.
Buffy hadn’t had any belongings when she’d first gone to Europe, and moving from Rome to London had been fairly straightforward. It had been more of a relocation, based on practicalities.
But moving to LA… Moving to LA with Spike, in order to move in together — it seemed somehow too far-fetched. Like, was this real? She had never lived with a guy, always had her own space, her own place, and what if it didn’t work out? What if an actual relationship proved too difficult? What if-?
They were both tip-toeing, tentatively working out what the new parameters were. She had taken almost two months to finally get herself back across to America — officially because the fallout from Wolfram & Hart’s collapse kept generating more issues, unofficially because she needed time to make sure she was making the right decision. The sex on the roof had been amazing (they were Good At Sex), but A Proper Relationship was something else and Spike had been very careful not to push her one way or another.
But when she had finally arrived, and then began dithering over which rooms to choose, he had almost lost his cool.
“Buffy, just choose a room already. We can always switch if you change your mind. We both have super powers, it’s not like moving the furniture is going to be a problem.”
“What if it doesn’t work?” she replied, her worries tumbling out. “You and me? What if we argue all the time? What if-”
He stopped her by taking hold of her arms and kissing her soundly.
“We won’t find out unless we try,” he said, watching her intently. “No one’s ever done this before, okay? And quite frankly after ten years of hell dimensions with Angel and Illyria… you’ll have to try very very hard to put me off.”
“You say the sweetest things,” she replied, and he brightened.
“Does that mean-”
“No, no troll head.”
“Compromise is a bitch,” he reluctantly acquiesced.
Adam wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but LA hadn’t magically made all his problems go away.
If he was honest with himself, he was still not sure what to make of this new world, where he would be able to choose his own future. All he had known was duty, his own wishes and desires nothing but an afterthought, and of no importance to those who had brought him into the world.
The earth beneath his feet might as well have rolled itself up and disappeared for all he knew what to do with himself. He’d seen how the Slayers, the Watchers looked at him — was he just an evil thing? His sole purpose had been to help uphold a status quo which was now nonexistent.
Was this how they all felt? All the creatures and lawyers and ‘monsters’ whose lives had been bought and owned by Wolfram & Hart? Was this why so many of them threw themselves on the Slayers’ swords?
Where was there to go now for someone like him?
To his sister’s dismay he started hanging out with a demon biker gang (that breathtaking ride through London, clinging onto Spike and Connor, still etched on his memory), but for better or worse his involvement was cut short one night when they had a bust-up with another gang, interrupted by two blondes in long black coats.
It took several awestruck moments before Adam realised that it was Spike and Buffy, and without hesitation he stabbed the nearest gang member in the back.
When the battle was done he bounded across the dead bodies, happier than he had been for weeks. The fight had been mesmerising, the two of them fighting with perfect synchronicity; two black figures moving as one, tearing a bloody swathe through the demon onslaught, and Adam had wished he could have filmed it so he could watch it over and over.
“Where are you going? Can I help?”
Buffy didn’t look pleased, but Spike grinned and slapped him on the shoulder.
“Hey kid, didn’t know you were in town. And you know what — I think you are just the guy I need.”
The next day Buffy checked up on her fellow Slayers (it had been a quiet night apart from the demon biker fight), perfuncturally tidied the apartment, put some washing in the washer, went grocery shopping and checked the messages on the machine (two automated messages from cold callers and something that might be a case) — she wrote down the details of the possible case, since Nina was busy with a commission and wouldn’t be in for the next few days, and then began wondering exactly where Spike was. Leaving the housekeeping to her was par for the course (and the cause of most of their arguments, their relationship so far almost ridiculously ‘normal’), but he usually resurfaced the second someone mentioned the word ‘client’.
Somewhat to her surprise he was pretty good at selling his services, flirting quite shamelessly with humans and demons alike if he thought it’d get him a bigger tip, and Buffy tried her best to stay out of it except when he explicitly asked for help — usually just with killing things, like the night before, and it tended to be vision-related, not paid work.
He would grumble that it was very inconvenient for Illyria to have disappeared the way she had, he could really do with another fighter — and would then immediately add that he didn’t mean that Buffy had to step up; trying to work it out, she came to the conclusion that he didn’t want to feel beholden to her. It seemed very important to him that he had his own mission.
He wasn’t earning a lot so far, but with time that would hopefully change. The shift from inter-dimensional travel to something approximating a settled job was still a work in progress, but generally he didn’t disappear…
Unable to locate him in any of his usual hiding places, Buffy eventually made her way down into the basement of the Hyperion. There seemed to be… bleating?
As her eyes got used to the gloom, she saw Spike and Adam busy with painting symbols on the floor, magical paraphernalia on a table by the wall — and a small goat tied up.
“What exactly are you doing?” she asked cautiously, and Spike looked up.
“Told you I was going to try to get hold of Illyria.”
“You didn’t say you were going to sacrifice a goat!”
“If you know a better way…” he replied, then — taking note of the look on her face — handed the brush to Adam:
“Finish that off will you junior?”
Buffy folded her arms, trying to work out how to tackle the myriad issues she had.
“And why is he helping?”
“Well, we had a good chat last night, after you’d gone to bed. I remembered him saying something about how he’d like to be a witch, back when we were in London, and he has a pretty good base knowledge already. Figured this’d be good training.”
“For a teenager?”
“He ain’t human. He’ll need a profession that’ll last him. And I could do with a magic user. ”
“But... ritual sacrifice?”
Looking up at her, where she was standing on the stairs, Spike had that intensely stubborn look on his face again.
“The boy will be fine, he’s only helping. Buffy, I need to do this. If this doesn’t work, nothing will. And unlike little Andrew and his online acolytes — I believe in her. I’ve seen what she can do.”
He’d brought up Illyria more frequently as the weeks went on. Wondering what exactly had happened to her. Where she’d gotten to. Why hadn’t she returned?
But they were still sidestepping the elephant in the room.
“So… what? It was pointless for me to look for Angel, but slaughtering goats for Illyria is A-OK?”
They hadn’t broached the subject much, but he didn’t flinch or try to avoid the topic.
“Angel was… different. We were expecting it to be the end of the line. But Illyria is a god. Old Ones don’t die. If anything it’s the opposite — I don’t want to save her, I’m wondering if she can help us.”
A beat, as he pursed his lips, hesitating.
“Besides, and I’m not exactly proud of this, but Angel would probably be pleased that I paid some attention — being descended from The Order of Aurelius I might have a bit of an advantage over the average newly converted human.”
This was going from zero to one hundred in no time flat. She had no idea what he was talking about.
“Say what?”
“The Order of Aurelius? The Master? My great-great-granddaddy, I hear you met? You had a mutual killing spree? And I offed his annoying little offspring?”
“Sure, but-”
Spike tilted his head, eyes narrowing.
“Figured Giles would’ve explained this, but I guess you were sixteen, so maybe he didn’t bother. The Order of Aurelius was dedicated to worshipping the Old Ones, and The Master’s great plan was to bring ‘em back. Fuck knows why, he’d probably get eaten considerin’ how Illyria used to treat us, but hey, any port in a storm. Look, I even painted our symbol!”
He pointed to a circle within which was a sun with three stars.
There was a point at which she just abdicated, and this was it. Looking across at the teenager, she resigned herself to what was happening.
“You going to be okay Adam?” she asked, feeling that she needed to somehow be the responsible one, and he grinned.
“Not my first time sacrificing a goat. This was like… what I did in nursery. Evil nursery.”
Despite telling herself to just leave them to it, she stayed. Illyria was a strange unknown quantity and Spike’s attachment was… odd. His ties to Angel were understandable, but Illyria? No, she didn’t get it.
But, if something went wrong they could probably do with a hand. She had a sneaking suspicion that ‘contacting a Hell God’ wouldn’t be as straightforward as Spike obviously hoped.
Chapter 32 on LJ
Chapter 32 on DW
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He’ll need a profession that’ll last him.
Heh. Spike the career counselor.
I seems like things are coming together, in an *ahem* almost destined way. I'm so happy you're sticking with this story!
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Well she is doing her Slayer thing, but just regular patrols... (and yes, more on that in the next chapter). As you say, moving from running the show to something v mundane loses it's attraction quite quickly. :)
Heh. Spike the career counselor.
I am so pleased Adam turned up, it's great having Spike be someone's mentor. Unlikely as it is.
I seems like things are coming together, in an *ahem* almost destined way.
LOL. Four more chapters (well, 3 and an epilogue.)
I'm so happy you're sticking with this story!
Me too! Even if the (self-imposed) deadlines sometimes are a bitch. Thank you for reading & your lovely comments. <3
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I don't suppose there's any way you could post a: "YAY, it's finished!" could you?
Think I have to go back to the beginning.
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Squee! And I post every two weeks, every other Saturday, perfectly regularly. Also there are only three chapters left (plus an epilogue)...
I don't suppose there's any way you could post a: "YAY, it's finished!" could you?
Soon.
Think I have to go back to the beginning.
By all means! :D
So very thrilled that you are reading, basically feeling like this:
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That's an adorable gif.
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And I have any adorable Buffy gifs...
ETA: AND I HAVE FINISHED IT! :D (Just fyi. It's VERY long.)
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And the final word count is 123,282 - just to make you aware! :)