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Lost Soul. Chapter 3.
Onward we go...
'Lost Soul' summary: Spike loses his soul AtS S5. Some wackiness ensues...
Previous chapters here.
Chapter 3
Lorne was apprehensive. There had been a very strange edge to Angel’s voice when he’d called up. He hadn’t even tried being polite and Lorne had picked up a distinctly unpleasant vibe. Lorne hoped that it wasn’t him the anger was directed at. At least he couldn’t think of anything he or his department had done lately to cause Angel more stress.
Harmony waved at him and told him to go straight in, but as he opened the doors he felt as though he was being flattened by a tsunami of emotions. Looking around as he carefully closed the doors behind him, he saw Spike sitting on the sofa, sprawled out in a typically defiant way. Angel was by his desk, looking grumpy, and Fred was sitting on the sofa’s armrest, looking exhausted but determined. Across from Angel were Wes and Gunn, both stony faced and armed. Wes was carefully loading a crossbow and Spike looked up: “You know I can pick those out of the air, don’t you Percy? Go on - try!” and he spread out his arms, a challenging look on his face.
“OK amigos, what on earth is going on?” Lorne asked, and they all turned and looked at him.
“Well, Spike somehow managed to get his soul stolen.” Angel said grimly and Lorne looked at him sharply. But it appeared that nobody was joking.
“I want it back you see, but nobody believes me, on account of me once being the Big Bad.” Spike looked at him, and he could almost see the anger and frustration curling off the vampire like black smoke.
“Just because granddad has a split-personality doesn’t mean we’re all like that!” he continued and glowered at Angel, who glowered right back, cold and sarcastic: “Last time I met you un-souled you tortured me with hot pokers - excuse me for being cautious!”
“That was years ago!” Spike protested.
“You ran me through with a sword just last night!” Angel shot back and Lorne closed his eyes in pain - two more minutes of this and he’d have a fully-fledged headache. “So... em... what did you need me for?” he asked, trying to redirect their attention.
“They want me to sing, to prove that I’m not going to snack on the general population.” Spike snapped, but Lorne didn’t miss the looks the others sent Fred. This had obviously been her idea.
“Well, then, I’m sure you have a delightful voice!” Lorne said, plastering a wide smile on his face as he silently added to himself: Can’t be worse than Angel’s.
Spike looked around, and Lorne could feel his discomfort, the apprehensiveness that came with friends regarding you as an enemy. There was swagger, but it was obviously a defence mechanism, far removed from Angelus’s callous superiority. It would be interesting to read him - he had never done so before.
“Go on, Spike!” Fred urged, and sent Wesley a look. He lowered his eyes, and Lorne was sure that the young couple were in the middle of their first real argument.
Spike however was now studying Lorne carefully: “What you see - it’s confidential, right? Otherwise I ain’t humming a note!”
“Oh completely, my tow-haired friend. Not a peep to anyone!” He began to get a slightly bad feeling about the whole thing. What was Spike so afraid of him seeing? He must be aware that Lorne had read Angel on several occasions and was quite familiar with all the pain and torture a vampire could dole out.
Spike stood up and looked around at the group: “Any chance of privacy?” he asked, but Angel just shook his head silently and Spike sighed in defeat.
Then he suddenly smiled a wicked, cheeky smile: “Well, this is a little ditty I once sang to Buffy - we had this demon in town that made everyone burst into song...” He cast a glance at Angel who for once seemed taken by surprise.
Before Lorne could ask for any details on this intriguing demon, Spike turned back to him: “Might need to sit down, green man!”
Lorne shook his head and Spike shrugged. “Ah, well, suit yourself.” Then he looked straight into Lorne’s eyes and began to sing: “I died, so many years ago...”
The song hit Lorne like a couple of large, padded trucks.
Spike’s life was spread out before him, like a multicoloured tapestry - and he, jaded as he was, marvelled at the vampire’s passion. Blood and fire, love and hate... and at the centre of it all a small, blonde woman - Buffy!
Buffy - in a thousand different ways, a thousand different fragments that all added up to something Lorne had never suspected until now. It was a very different Buffy from the one he’d seen through Angel’s eyes. Not a young, innocent girl, but a woman; a warrior; a broken girl - clinging onto life even as she thought she was drowning.
And he saw Spike, saw him change, saw him try and fail, but picking himself up every time, saw him scorched with the agony of a soul and yet not give up as Angel had a few years ago. Saw him trying - trying - to find out what it all meant - to work out who he was now...
Lorne slowly came back into the room, feeling like he’d been on a long, long journey. Spike had finished singing and was now studying him warily. Lorne wanted nothing more than to sit down and talk with him for a long time. Because here was a love story - every bit as epic as Angel’s - and a young woman somewhere out there, who had loved this vampire with such unexpected depths. Depths that she had been one of the only ones to know. But of course Angel butted in and broke the moment.
“So - is he going to kill anyone?”
Lorne shot him a look: “No more than you!” This obviously hit a nerve, because Angel shut up.
Lorne then turned to Gunn and Wes, who had looked rather unsettled during the song. “And you can put those weapons down. Our Blondie-bear wants his soul back, and he’ll need your help.”
Gunn pocketed his stake and tentatively smiled. “Well, Spike, what can you tell us about this guy? Apart from being English?”
Spike took a deep breath and his brow furrowed. “Let me see - about average height I guess, middle aged, well educated I think - certainly when it comes to magic. Hmmm, said he’d been to Asia recently, studying.”
Wesley sighed. “Well, that’s something at least - he didn’t tell you his name?”
Spike looked at him, and Wesley lowered the crossbow. “Sorry - bad habit. I... trust Lorne’s judgement!”
Spike didn’t look very happy, but tried his best to think. “I’m not sure... E-something-or-other. Afraid I was rather drunk.” He thought for another moment, then his face brightened: “That’s it! He had been to Sunnydale - he’d heard of me! Said it was an honour to meet me and all that crap, once he realised that I wasn’t going to eat him. I thought it was odd, since I don’t usually get that from humans.”
Angel was looking at him now. “He’d been to Sunnydale?”
Spike nodded and then suddenly seemed as if struck by lightning. “He left a note! Here - have a look!”
He pulled out a folded up sheet of paper from a coat pocket and, after a slight hesitation, handed it to Angel.
“You forgot that he left a note?” Angel asked, mocking.
“Well, my soul got stolen - I’m sorry if that threw me a bit!” Spike replied, voice angry.
Angel looked as though he was about to say something else, but Wesley cut in. “What does it say Angel?”
He looked at the note and read out: “No need to thank me, just have fun!”
“Nicely cryptic.” Wesley remarked, but Angel wasn’t listening. He had closed his eyes and was holding the paper under his nose, inhaling. Then he frowned.
“This is familiar somehow...” He turned to Spike: “Come here - I need to smell you.”
Spike raised an eyebrow. “Now that’s a chat-up line I haven’t heard in decades!”
“Shut up! You probably still have his scent on you - I might be able to place it.”
“Fine.” Spike said and slowly walked over to his grandsire. There was a moments silence, then Angel looked up, eyes hard: “Ethan Rayne.”
Chapter 4
'Lost Soul' summary: Spike loses his soul AtS S5. Some wackiness ensues...
Previous chapters here.
Lorne was apprehensive. There had been a very strange edge to Angel’s voice when he’d called up. He hadn’t even tried being polite and Lorne had picked up a distinctly unpleasant vibe. Lorne hoped that it wasn’t him the anger was directed at. At least he couldn’t think of anything he or his department had done lately to cause Angel more stress.
Harmony waved at him and told him to go straight in, but as he opened the doors he felt as though he was being flattened by a tsunami of emotions. Looking around as he carefully closed the doors behind him, he saw Spike sitting on the sofa, sprawled out in a typically defiant way. Angel was by his desk, looking grumpy, and Fred was sitting on the sofa’s armrest, looking exhausted but determined. Across from Angel were Wes and Gunn, both stony faced and armed. Wes was carefully loading a crossbow and Spike looked up: “You know I can pick those out of the air, don’t you Percy? Go on - try!” and he spread out his arms, a challenging look on his face.
“OK amigos, what on earth is going on?” Lorne asked, and they all turned and looked at him.
“Well, Spike somehow managed to get his soul stolen.” Angel said grimly and Lorne looked at him sharply. But it appeared that nobody was joking.
“I want it back you see, but nobody believes me, on account of me once being the Big Bad.” Spike looked at him, and he could almost see the anger and frustration curling off the vampire like black smoke.
“Just because granddad has a split-personality doesn’t mean we’re all like that!” he continued and glowered at Angel, who glowered right back, cold and sarcastic: “Last time I met you un-souled you tortured me with hot pokers - excuse me for being cautious!”
“That was years ago!” Spike protested.
“You ran me through with a sword just last night!” Angel shot back and Lorne closed his eyes in pain - two more minutes of this and he’d have a fully-fledged headache. “So... em... what did you need me for?” he asked, trying to redirect their attention.
“They want me to sing, to prove that I’m not going to snack on the general population.” Spike snapped, but Lorne didn’t miss the looks the others sent Fred. This had obviously been her idea.
“Well, then, I’m sure you have a delightful voice!” Lorne said, plastering a wide smile on his face as he silently added to himself: Can’t be worse than Angel’s.
Spike looked around, and Lorne could feel his discomfort, the apprehensiveness that came with friends regarding you as an enemy. There was swagger, but it was obviously a defence mechanism, far removed from Angelus’s callous superiority. It would be interesting to read him - he had never done so before.
“Go on, Spike!” Fred urged, and sent Wesley a look. He lowered his eyes, and Lorne was sure that the young couple were in the middle of their first real argument.
Spike however was now studying Lorne carefully: “What you see - it’s confidential, right? Otherwise I ain’t humming a note!”
“Oh completely, my tow-haired friend. Not a peep to anyone!” He began to get a slightly bad feeling about the whole thing. What was Spike so afraid of him seeing? He must be aware that Lorne had read Angel on several occasions and was quite familiar with all the pain and torture a vampire could dole out.
Spike stood up and looked around at the group: “Any chance of privacy?” he asked, but Angel just shook his head silently and Spike sighed in defeat.
Then he suddenly smiled a wicked, cheeky smile: “Well, this is a little ditty I once sang to Buffy - we had this demon in town that made everyone burst into song...” He cast a glance at Angel who for once seemed taken by surprise.
Before Lorne could ask for any details on this intriguing demon, Spike turned back to him: “Might need to sit down, green man!”
Lorne shook his head and Spike shrugged. “Ah, well, suit yourself.” Then he looked straight into Lorne’s eyes and began to sing: “I died, so many years ago...”
The song hit Lorne like a couple of large, padded trucks.
Spike’s life was spread out before him, like a multicoloured tapestry - and he, jaded as he was, marvelled at the vampire’s passion. Blood and fire, love and hate... and at the centre of it all a small, blonde woman - Buffy!
Buffy - in a thousand different ways, a thousand different fragments that all added up to something Lorne had never suspected until now. It was a very different Buffy from the one he’d seen through Angel’s eyes. Not a young, innocent girl, but a woman; a warrior; a broken girl - clinging onto life even as she thought she was drowning.
And he saw Spike, saw him change, saw him try and fail, but picking himself up every time, saw him scorched with the agony of a soul and yet not give up as Angel had a few years ago. Saw him trying - trying - to find out what it all meant - to work out who he was now...
Lorne slowly came back into the room, feeling like he’d been on a long, long journey. Spike had finished singing and was now studying him warily. Lorne wanted nothing more than to sit down and talk with him for a long time. Because here was a love story - every bit as epic as Angel’s - and a young woman somewhere out there, who had loved this vampire with such unexpected depths. Depths that she had been one of the only ones to know. But of course Angel butted in and broke the moment.
“So - is he going to kill anyone?”
Lorne shot him a look: “No more than you!” This obviously hit a nerve, because Angel shut up.
Lorne then turned to Gunn and Wes, who had looked rather unsettled during the song. “And you can put those weapons down. Our Blondie-bear wants his soul back, and he’ll need your help.”
Gunn pocketed his stake and tentatively smiled. “Well, Spike, what can you tell us about this guy? Apart from being English?”
Spike took a deep breath and his brow furrowed. “Let me see - about average height I guess, middle aged, well educated I think - certainly when it comes to magic. Hmmm, said he’d been to Asia recently, studying.”
Wesley sighed. “Well, that’s something at least - he didn’t tell you his name?”
Spike looked at him, and Wesley lowered the crossbow. “Sorry - bad habit. I... trust Lorne’s judgement!”
Spike didn’t look very happy, but tried his best to think. “I’m not sure... E-something-or-other. Afraid I was rather drunk.” He thought for another moment, then his face brightened: “That’s it! He had been to Sunnydale - he’d heard of me! Said it was an honour to meet me and all that crap, once he realised that I wasn’t going to eat him. I thought it was odd, since I don’t usually get that from humans.”
Angel was looking at him now. “He’d been to Sunnydale?”
Spike nodded and then suddenly seemed as if struck by lightning. “He left a note! Here - have a look!”
He pulled out a folded up sheet of paper from a coat pocket and, after a slight hesitation, handed it to Angel.
“You forgot that he left a note?” Angel asked, mocking.
“Well, my soul got stolen - I’m sorry if that threw me a bit!” Spike replied, voice angry.
Angel looked as though he was about to say something else, but Wesley cut in. “What does it say Angel?”
He looked at the note and read out: “No need to thank me, just have fun!”
“Nicely cryptic.” Wesley remarked, but Angel wasn’t listening. He had closed his eyes and was holding the paper under his nose, inhaling. Then he frowned.
“This is familiar somehow...” He turned to Spike: “Come here - I need to smell you.”
Spike raised an eyebrow. “Now that’s a chat-up line I haven’t heard in decades!”
“Shut up! You probably still have his scent on you - I might be able to place it.”
“Fine.” Spike said and slowly walked over to his grandsire. There was a moments silence, then Angel looked up, eyes hard: “Ethan Rayne.”
Chapter 4