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quinaraWe're in the final straights! Hopefully I should be able to get chapter fourteen and the epilogue up tonight, though I've somehow managed to come down with a cold on top of everything else, so may end up collapsing. Still, thank you everyone for your comments! I will reply to every single one, but for now I just wanted to say how much I appreciate them. :)
Turn and Face the Strain.
[Sequel to The More Things Stay the Same and As Good as a Rest.]
When Buffy thought about falling in love again, she didn't expect it to be nearly so complicated as it actually turns out to be.
Also, she didn't expect it to be Spike. (She's not sure he did either.)
[Notes + Chapter One: I'm Not a Political Animal, But.]
/
[Chapter Twelve: The Next Thing You Know You’re LBJ.]
.
Chapter Thirteen: Handing the Keys over to Nixon.
“OK…” Buffy said, meeting Daniel’s eyes for a moment before she looked back over to Wesley. He wanted her to be calm. She could do calm. “Tell me this,” she tried, keeping her voice steady. “What the hell is going on?”
On either side of her, Kate and Cordelia looked just as bemused; on Kate it came across as sardonic, while Cordy had gone with nothing but outright shock. “I second that,” she said. “Wes…” She followed him as he turned to the sink, lowered her voice. Of course, in the small space they could all still hear what she was saying. “Seriously, what is he doing here? Does Angel know? Because he is not gonna be happy…”
There was the sound of crockery crunching together as Wesley apparently expressed himself with plates. “I shan’t imagine Angel knows, no,” he spat, storming back into the living space where Buffy and the others were still standing awkwardly. “But, since he has made it quite clear he wants nothing to do with me, I’m not certain it’s any of his business.”
Buffy frowned, trying to work out where that had come from. When she’d met Daniel the last time she and Spike were in town he’d seemed pretty dead-set on killing Angel - because he wanted revenge, but also, so he’d tried to argue reasonably, because he didn’t trust any vampire around a baby. It was kind of unclear if that had changed - and now he was here, with Wesley, who had... He’d almost been thinking the same thing, hadn't he? He’d been convinced by his books that Angel was going to hurt Connor, not by his own raging fundamentalism, but, more than that, he’d thought and said that Daniel was a good person, like he was someone they were meant to talk to rather than an evil demon to be beaten up and killed.
Well, Buffy supposed, this was certainly talking to him.
Angel would never have been on board with this, not now. And almost definitely not before, either. Even if he was all for saving people, Buffy knew he had his limits and, after the whole blood-switching business with Connor and Angel’s food, Daniel had pretty much gone through them never to return. Maybe that was why he'd cut Wesley out.
But then, Buffy thought, biting her lip as he gaze wandered around Wesley’s apartment – which was much, much tidier than it had been before when she’d been here – did it really make sense that Daniel would have done that with the blood? It seemed really strange that he would threaten Connor in that way, rather than go with something more direct.
And yet he'd been at Wolfram and Hart - and…
“Seriously,” she added out loud, breaking through her circling thoughts to stare down Daniel once again. He didn’t seem so broken, really, in the end – just defeated. “Here’s the thing I can’t get over. I mean,” she explained, “we haven’t really discussed this, so you’re gonna have to correct me if I’m wrong, but…” Even as he stood up to her scrutiny, something still seemed dangerous about Daniel, the same edge to his personality as he’d had before, like his actions would be unpredictable. “Didn’t you burn down Angel’s hotel? Like, recently?” That was the thing, wasn’t it, after all? Even if she realised now that she, Cordy and Kate – and Spike – had all pretty much avoided talking about it in concrete terms, there weren’t many other suspects. “And you were at Wolfram and Hart,” she added, not wanting that part to go without saying. “I saw you.”
Looking a little surprised by this, Daniel paused for a moment – but then deflated, sinking back into his chair and rubbing his face with his hands. “I was at the lawyers’ because of Sahjhan,” he explained to Wesley, mostly, though his eyes darted Buffy’s way every now and then as well. “My actions thus far have proved unsatisfactory to him and his desire for destruction, and so he has begun to act on his own.” Wesley himself was standing next to Cordelia, looking curious about this development, which he apparently hadn’t known about. Buffy wasn’t sure what they meant. “He had some dealings with a woman there, a Miss Morgan, and I wanted to know what.”
“Lilah,” Wesley groused, crossing his arms and apparently aware of who this woman was. “We probably have her to blame for Angel’s dietary fiasco…” Buffy assumed he meant the blood-swapping with that remark, which at least explained that one? “But I suppose she told you nothing at all?”
“She would not be persuaded to discuss the matter, no,” Daniel confirmed, dropping his eyes to the table. “The meeting was quite fruitless.”
“Question,” Cordy piped up then, holding up her finger where she sat on the back of the couch. “Who’s Sahjhan?”
Buffy was glad she’d asked; now she didn’t have to. “Yeah,” she simply agreed instead, still pretty much lost.
Shaking his head, Daniel explained, “Sahjhan is the name of the demon who transported me through time after I swore to him I would seek revenge on Angel.” He described it as though he was talking about someone else. “We made an arrangement.”
It sounded as if that hadn’t gone particularly well. Buffy groaned. Why did these things always get more complicated?
Apparently over this, however, Wesley gestured dismissively. “Holtz and Sahjhan have parted ways,” he insisted, optimistically blunt, like this meant they were supposed to cut the guy some slack. “Whatever Holtz has done, Sahjhan could do much worse: he’s the real threat we should be on the lookout for.”
“Great; so what do we need to do then?” Cordelia asked, with a perky sort of sarcasm. Buffy kept her mouth shut and let her speak, not quite sure what she made of this yet. “How do we kill this guy? Let’s do that.”
“To contain Sahjhan,” Daniel intoned, “we need a Resikhian Urn. It will contain his essence indefinitely, if the correct rituals are observed.”
Awesome, Buffy thought. I’ll add that to my shopping list. “Before we get too ahead of ourselves,” she said out loud, “and, really, I’m sorry if I’m being kind of slow, here, but you burned down Angel’s hotel. The whole investigatory headquarters. People’s home.” Looking around, she didn’t seem to be bringing anyone but Cordy with her on this (Kate just looked tired), but she really couldn’t let it go. “Can we not talk about that a little? As in… What?”
“I did not know it was home to anyone but the vampire,” he began, as if that made it OK. Then at least he started stumbling over his words, “Until, I confess, that is…” For a moment he hesitated, looking at Wesley with a certain amount of suspicion on his face. Buffy had no idea what that was about, still caught up on the way they were letting go his attempted murder of Angel. Maybe they had to, if he did feel bad about it; maybe they were meant to be moving on – but it didn’t feel right to her, though she couldn’t work out why. “We investigated after the fact,” Daniel continued, still not speaking smoothly. Honestly, he looked pained. “Justine and I disagreed…”
He shook his head, saying no more, so Buffy looked at Wesley, who was scowling at her. It was like she’d disappointed him with her manners or something, but she didn’t know what to make of that. Surely even if they gave Daniel a pass on the recovery train, that didn’t meant she had to like him? Or treat him like he hadn’t recently wanted people dead? “The hotel was a turning point,” Wesley then spoke up, analysing uninformatively. “The last act he and his followers committed against Angel. Can we leave it there?”
From the way he was twitching, Buffy got the impression Wesley was suggesting this mainly because he knew about as much as she did: not very much at all. And wasn’t that just wonderful?
Seriously, Buffy tried to work out, at what point had Wesley the paranoid ex-watcher decided to take on faith that Daniel the anti-vampire zealot was having a real moral crisis? Why was he so much more convinced than her? Not that she was unconvinced, but there was still so much information Daniel was clearly holding back.
Apparently this question showed on her face, because Wesley smiled, wryly. “I was ostracised for simply talking to the man,” he explained, like he'd given up. “It seemed like I might as well listen to him as well, if only to get my money’s worth from the whole experience.”
So… As far as she could tell, he was listening to Daniel as a way of getting back at Angel and convincing himself this was all worthwhile.
Buffy looked at Kate, not much caring anymore about the disagreement the other woman didn’t even know they’d had. With this situation, Buffy just really wanted someone to give her an idea of what to do. Because – “This is actually ridiculous,” she found herself saying, shocked and shaking her head. “Totally and completely.”
Her mouth thinning, the other woman said nothing, but the quirk of her eyebrow seemed to express nonetheless, Yeah, well; this is why I have rules. Maybe you think they’re harsh, but you can’t run your life like this.
Before Buffy could decide whether she agreed, however, Wesley interrupted. “And what is it you suggest we do?” he snapped, the lines on his face even more pronounced as he clenched his jaw. “Since you took it upon yourself to invite everybody here, what do you propose for the rest of the evening?”
Affronted, Buffy glared at him, then looked away briefly to the clock on the mantelpiece. It was getting late, she decided. Later than she wanted it to be – and she was tired of waiting. “Well, since Spike should have been here by now, there’s clearly something happening where we aren’t. I say we go back to the hotel and try and find him, before we all lose our minds from whatever fumes are clearly smoking into this apartment.”
“Uh,” Cordelia cut in before Wesley could reply. “Is that really the best plan? It’s not exactly likely we’re gonna…”
“It’s a great plan,” Buffy spoke over her. They couldn’t stay here, she decided. It was too hard to think and she was getting the overwhelming urge to smash things.
“Good, yes,” Wesley agreed with her, though his motives for wanting them out of his apartment were pretty clear. “Go. I’ll send Spike after you if he turns up.”
Looking upset now, Cordelia turned to him and tried to mediate. “Wes…”she pleaded, and at least got out of him something approaching a conflicted expression.
“Oh, you’re coming with us,” Buffy told him anyway, because he was the one who’d asked her for a plan. She looked over to Daniel too, making sure he realised he was included. As far as she was concerned, this situation was getting fixed up tonight, so that she could rest up and go home for some peace and quiet. Finally. “You’ve gotta talk this out with Angel sometime,” she added, in case they were still reasonable. “Might as well come along and find him now.”
Either her skills in persuasion were better than she remembered, or what she said actually managed to strike a chord, because, after some demurring, they agreed.
There wasn’t much to say as the Katemobile wended its way through the traffic. Now that she wasn’t staring Wesley in the face, it was easier for Buffy to think about the possibility that Daniel was actually feeling guilty about what he’d done – but she still wasn’t sure what opinion she was supposed to have about it. She knew she counted herself as someone who cared about that, about people and their rehabilitation, but, really, it was difficult, wasn’t it? How could she feel nothing now that she’d seen the shell of the Hyperion, when she could remember everything he’d said about Angel? How much was she supposed to take on faith? At some point, surely, she’d just be gullible to believe him.
Looking over to Kate in the driving seat, Buffy wondered what it was like for her, really. It sounded like she didn’t have to think about these things, because all she needed to do was react to situations, follow protocol based on events as they revealed themselves. Maybe that was easier.
But Buffy couldn’t ever do the same, could she? So much of slaying vampires was preventative; it was about catching them as they came out of the ground, before they hurt someone. Maybe that was a numbers thing, a little, because there was only one of her and she couldn’t patrol everywhere all the time – but it was also just because a vampire’s factory setting was, well, evil, so there wasn’t any point in waiting until the danger came.
When it came down to it, she had to make a choice and draw the line with demons. Spike was different, because the Initiative had cut him off from killing and because he’d made himself that way, but that actually was an exception she could understand. A vampire on the street could kill someone, would kill someone and never give a damn; Spike couldn’t, for a start, and she trusted that he wouldn't do much more than hoard some evil eggs, believe that he’d done right, listen to her tell him he’d done wrong - not do it again. She judged everything she fought before they made a move.
With humans, though, with people who had souls and consciences, she couldn’t do that. Because all too often they did something, something terrible, then turned around and told you, ‘sorry’, actually felt it. The possibility that they would was all too great; she couldn't justify herself to act pre-emptively. So she had to... What?
Sighing, Buffy let the side of her head fall against the window. With her eyes closed, she almost felt like she could put up with its rumbling and rattling for the chance to rest and sleep, but more rationally she knew it wasn’t going to happen. And so she shook herself, forcing her eyes to look out once more into the city and the empty night-time streets. They swept by the window steadily, all long runs of grey windows and doorways and commercial premises.
Eventually, around Echo Park, they hit some traffic, which practically brought them to a standstill. There was work or something going on the road up ahead; Buffy wasn’t paying much attention. The lack of movement meant she was watching people instead of buildings, but that was OK. It still took her mind off things.
About halfway through a traffic jam, however, something caught her eye. It was a motorcycle, parked in an alleyway out of the light like its owner didn’t want it to be seen. More than that, it was familiar. The decoration wasn’t quite standard, had addition of chains and spikes, which weren’t so obvious against the metal chassis, but were more than noticeable when you were looking for them. Also, though she couldn’t quite tell in the low light, Buffy thought she could see where the seat had been ripped once and repaired, the result of one careless owner with razor claws and one careful owner with a lot of experience mending leather. The line of the seat covering wasn’t quite smooth around the back, so there was a visible difference where the top half of the leather panel caught the light with an inky-petrol colour and the lower half was just straight black.
All right, so the more she stared the more Buffy was pretty sure she was just seeing things, but she was going to call slayerly instinct and say that that was Spike’s motorbike. She’d been on it enough times that she could imagine herself climbing on in her mind’s eye, and there didn’t seem to be anything out of place. Also, this was a way better lead than chasing breadcrumbs of nothing away from the Hyperion.
“Hey,” she said to Kate, tapping her finger against the window. “That’s Spike’s bike. He’s around here somewhere.”
“Are you sure?” Kate asked, like she wanted to be certain before she turned off the main road, although the grateful expression on her face implied that she would accept any excuse to get out of this jam.
Cordelia sounded like she didn’t want to go out into the cold without a good reason. “How can you tell?” she asked.
“I can’t know one hundred per cent without getting closer,” Buffy replied, taking another look at the motorcycle. “But I think it could be – and he’s gotta be around here someplace, hasn’t he?”
After a moment’s hesitation, Kate sighed, accepting that they were going to go with this. “OK,” she said, looking around for ways out of the traffic. “I’m gonna need to park somewhere, so you go ahead. If it’s not his then you can probably get back here before I lose my place. We’re gonna have to meet back at the alley anyway,” she added, “else we’re gonna lose each other.”
“Right.” Buffy nodded, unbuckling. Remembering who else was in the car, she turned to the backseat before she got out and asked, “D’you wanna come with me, Cor?”
Cordelia looked out of the window herself, crinkling her nose as she apparently weighed up her options. “There isn’t any rush, I guess, is there? I think I’ll stay with Kate in case you can’t find him and we have to keep going.”
That sounded fair enough to Buffy. “OK,” she accepted, climbing out of the car into the rumble of the traffic jam, nimbly cutting between the two cars in the next lane to get over onto the sidewalk.
Closer inspection of the bike told her as much as she’d deduced in the car: as far as she could judge, it was Spike’s. The alley was a dead end, so that left her with two directions to choose from. Turning back to the road, she gave Kate and Cordy a thumbs up, in the hope they were looking out for one. Hopefully Wesley and Daniel were watching her for some sort of sign as well, though she’d actually lost track of which SUV with the tinted windows was Wesley’s; there were a few of them on the road.
Trusting her latent vampire hunting instincts, not to mention the likelihood of tinglies when Spike was nearby, Buffy paused for a moment, then turned and started walking back the way they'd just come.
It was time to be getting on. This much, Spike knew. Buffy would have been expecting him at the watcher’s for a while now, but he was still hanging around Angel’s hide out, trying to figure out what to do. The easiest thing would be to leave and come back, but – and most likely this was too many years of experience talking – he didn’t quite trust Angel to stay put until he came back to get this whole mess fixed straight. It was just as likely the old git would get it into his own and everyone else’s head that they’d be safer on the hoof, lost somewhere absolutely secret. And then they’d never be found again.
So that was why Spike was keeping guard outside the warehouse, having a smoke of some illicit cigarettes he’d nicked from the petrol station on the way up. He shouldn’t have been so weak, really, but the smoke was filling his throat very nicely indeed, and if the bloke at the till was dozy enough to fall for the old ‘a packet of Reds’ – quick sleight of hand – ‘and that was a packet of Reds, mate, did you get that; nah, wait, don’t bother; I’m giving up’… Well, he deserved to be ripped off, didn’t he?
With any luck, he’d have them all smoked before he got home and Dawn would never know. To Sunnydale, that was, not Revello Drive. It really was more than his unlife’s worth to start thinking about 1630 as his home, he was sure of it. Even if he was between domiciles at this precise moment in time…
Thinking of Revello Drive, however, was clearly setting his mind in free-association mode, because just at that moment he caught something on the breeze that smelt, funnily enough, like the very slightest scent of Eau de Summers making its way to him.
Oh, thank God.
Dropping the end of his fag to the gravel and crushing it reflexively with one of his new boots, Spike immediately headed out from behind the warehouse into the gravel yard, to get a better whiff. There was definitely something in the air, he decided. In any case, it was all too likely that Buffy had got bored waiting for him, so it definitely seemed like a good plan to sod Angel and make sure the person he actually cared about didn’t get lost trying to find him in the middle of LA. Quite how she’d got this close, he didn’t know, unless she’d run into Sneezy the demon as well, but that didn’t matter.
Out of the yard, he was back on the road, heading the way he’d come. It hadn’t been a very long walk from his bike, though, and he only had to turn one corner before he saw her.
She was stalking down the pavement with a determined frown on her face, like a leopard looking for a rogue gazelle. Naturally, she wasn’t looking where she was going, but concentrated on the other side of the road at every side street and alleyway she passed – the complete wrong direction. It took everything in him not to burst out laughing at her cute little earnest expression, especially after Angel's grumping; he was filled with the urge to run down the pavement like a bloody fool, spin her up into his arms before she had a chance to complain about the melodrama. It wasn’t fair that the sense of her already had him bouncing on his toes.
Miracle of miracles, she looked the right way at that moment and her big eyes widened to see him, twenty-five yards in front of her. “You aren’t gonna find me over there!” he yelled now the jig was up, grinning as he nodded to the other side of the road.
“Spike!” came her surprised reply, and he took that as his cue to close the gap between them, at a brisk pace which in no way resembled a run but matched her speed entirely. “You’re here.” She spoke more softly when they were at last in touching distance, holding up her right arm as if to do just that, or maybe give him a hug.
Finally with her again, he didn’t give one fuck about avoiding melodrama anymore. Given how often they shagged, snogged and generally lived in each other’s bodily fluids, he didn’t think it was taking too much of a liberty to greet her by looping his arms around her waist and lifting her up against him, tipping his head back a touch to encourage one long smack of a hello kiss. It sent shivers right through him, and if that wasn’t how a bloke was meant to start an evening of dealing with bollocks from his grandsire, he didn’t know what was.
Thankfully, once he’d taken the lead Buffy was more than happy to follow up, closing her arms – both arms, he noticed – around his neck and sliding down the front of him so they could stand for a more substantial snog. He was feeling almost breathless as she looked by the time she pulled away, panting as she rested her forehead against his. “Well, that was – wow,” she said, smiling so widely he was helpless to do anything but smile back. “Remind me I’m not allowed to go twelve hours without that again.”
“Has it only been that long?” he murmured, sounding like a prat as he ran his right hand up and down her back, getting shivers out of her. She still had the brace on, by the feel of it, but presumably slayer healing had her feeling the last few steps to all better now.
Nuzzling her head into his shoulder, it felt like she wanted nothing more than a good snooze. “Yep,” she confirmed all the same. “Probably less, actually, and we still have stuff to do.” Reluctantly, then, he had to let her pull back from him and nod her head back the way she’d come. “Kate and Cordelia should be back that way, along with some extra special guests. We’re meeting by your bike, for real this time.” Then she sighed. “We're gonna have to…”
He hiked a thumb back over his shoulder as the worried silence fell. “Angel and co. are holed up in a warehouse thataway,” he told her; she glanced around his head. “Let’s pick up your lot and get on with the show, yeah?”
“Sure,” she agreed, an ironic lilt to her voice, like she'd missed daft stuff like him. “Although, d’you think Angel’s gonna come out of the shadows or just keep stalking you like a big stalker guy?”
Startled, Spike whipped around. Sure enough, Angel was lurking at the end of the street, only now emerging from the shadows. He couldn’t have been there for very long, but Spike cursed himself nonetheless for letting himself get upwind. Even if that had been necessary to find a certain slayer currently found and standing next to him, it wasn’t good for keeping face. Still, he could brazen it out. “All right, Grandpa?” he yelled down towards him. For some reason it made Buffy freeze up; she started wrenching on his sleeve. “Best get a move on; we’re off to see your…” He trailed off, turning to face Buffy. “What?”
Cringing, she murmured an explanation. “That’s not gonna be the best idea,” she said, just as Angel started to stiffly head their way. “We’ve ended up with Wes and Holtz in the party too…”
“Oh, bloody hell,” he swore, trying not to raise his voice. This wasn’t going to go well. “You might have mentioned that,” he accused.
“Sorry!” Buffy tilted up her hands at the wrists in the miniaturised gesture of apology; he was so pathetic he couldn’t even feel angry with her. Especially when she added, “You were very distracting.”
The problem was, she looked like she needed it: the crease-lines of anxiety were setting in. “Yeah, well,“ he tried quickly as Angel approached, not sure what else to say. Last thing he needed was for them both to be nervous. “Let’s get out of this mess first and then I’ll distract you a bit more, all right?” She jabbed him in the ribs for that remark – but it did make her snort, so he felt a little better.
It didn’t endear either of them to Angel, however, when he got into comfortable talking distance. “What are you so happy about?” he asked truculently.
“Nothing,” Buffy replied quickly, apparently far more sensible than Spike was feeling as she didn’t elaborate any further. “Come on,” she added, shutting down the conversation as she started leading the way back to bike.
It didn’t take long to get there, but Spike was on edge the whole way as he walked next to Angel, especially after he and Buffy had got through the requisite hellos. “You gonna mention why you were following me, then?” he asked when he couldn’t take it anymore.
“I was actually coming to talk to you,” Angel told him, supercilious to the max. Of course; he had Buffy to show off for now. “I thought you might’ve got the wrong impression – but then you started tracking something, so I thought I should see what it was. I didn’t know it was gonna be Buffy.”
But he had been worried about what Spike was going to say to her, that much was certain. Spike could see it churning in his eyes, the worry that he might have shared his plans about killing Holtz, either in cold blood or just lukewarm. Saint Angel the Holy Martyr didn’t want any rumour like that getting near his reputation, even if it was true.
It didn’t matter, though, so Spike decided to make no comment and simply grunt instead. It sounded like they were going to be seeing Holtz soon enough, and then things would be out of Spike’s hands anyway. None of that helped his nervousness, but he had more than a century’s practice keeping a lid on that, so he did.
A minute later, and they were at the bike, as yet without company. If he and Buffy had been on their own it would have been a prime opportunity for another kiss, or a bit more of a catch up than they’d been able to have on the phone, but they weren’t so it wasn’t. He checked his oil instead, just to have something to do with his hands.
“Um,” Buffy said awkwardly. “They should be here soon.” Then it was Angel’s turn to grunt.
They waited a little while longer. Naturally, by sheer sod’s law, it was Wesley and Holtz who arrived first. And that was when everything started going wrong.
“You!” Angel growled at the man Spike assumed had to be Holtz. Everything froze; Spike found himself filled with that horrible dream-like sense of slow motion, all his limbs turned to jelly as he panicked. Because this was the moment he'd been dreading, wasn't it? The moment he'd seen coming.
Holtz and Wesley, who looked like an absolute wreck, even if Spike did say so himself, were clearly surprised to see Angel there. They were frozen in the alley’s entrance, just across from where Spike was standing by his bike, near the other wall. They weren’t going to react in time, to whatever happened.
But what was happening? Flipping his head round, Spike saw Buffy’s equal look of shock – because clearly, no, she wasn’t aware of the hotel fire’s specifics, Connor’s place in it all. Either that or she grossly underestimated Angel’s taste in revenge. Next to her, of course, was the vampire himself, demon face full on and threatening, all yellow eyes and fangs.
There was a split second before Angel leapt, every ounce of vampire strength and speed aiding him. In less time, something in Spike’s mind must have made the decision, though when he thought about it afterwards he didn’t quite remember thinking it through. A second more and Holtz would have been a dying man, a few more seconds and he would have been gone – but those second didn’t happen. Spike was faster, fast enough, shoving his way towards the man quicker than Angel could cross the few yards between himself and his prey. What should have been a killing pounce instead brought him smack into Spike’s hands, arms, upper body, barrelling him into the wall.
Winded, Spike shoved and sent Angel reeling away from him. As time rushed back to normal, he heard the roaring. “I’ll kill you! I’ll fucking kill you!” At least he'd called that one right.
All the humans there had good reaction times and they were catching up now. Buffy’s eyes were on Angel; Wesley’s eyes were on him – Spike was meeting them, checking the other man was safe – and Holtz…
Right at Spike’s side, it took an instant for Holtz to recognise the threat to his life. The thing was, it turned out, this gnarly little man from another time was used to such things, even when he was on the edge, and he had come prepared. There was a crossbow in his hands and in a moment the point of its wooden bolt was pressing into Spike’s chest. The prick of pressure, pain was on his left hand side, right over where his old heart wasn’t beating.
In front of him, inches away, was Holtz. Spike didn’t know how that had happened, but he was. “Come any closer,” he threatened, the words intended for Angel and sent back over his shoulder, where he was looking, “and I’ll kill him. You’ll have the blood of us both on your hands.”
Oh, fuck. Yeah, he'd called this, but he hadn't seen far enough ahead, clearly.
Panicking now and not even ashamed of it, Spike looked over Holtz’s shoulder to Angel’s face. It was still fangy; his eyes were still yellow – but for a moment it was possible to communicate. Please, Spike found himself thinking, the pressure of the bolt far more real, unwavering, unaffected than anything he’d felt before. The chip was already loosing warning charges, right along with the adrenaline – not quite enough to harm, but enough that every flicker of thought about escaping came with a caution. This was going to hurt, he realised, whatever happened.
Spike had almost forgotten about the chip. All his time was spent with Buffy, where it didn’t work, or with demons, where it wasn’t meant to. How had he forgotten about the chip? It was possible he could force Holtz’s arm somewhere less threatening and push past him, but he’d be on the floor immediately, defenceless. Doomed.
Please, he thought again, involuntarily. Why did his plans always go wrong?
There was no mercy in Angel’s expression, however. He seemed to be weighing up his options, his chance for revenge versus Spike’s chance for survival. It only took a couple of seconds growling for him to decide.
One hundred and twenty years of a mistake set against a month or two of a miracle. Spike felt like he should have known he didn’t stand a chance. It was written all over Angel’s face. You know what? he was thinking, responding to Holtz’s threat, gaze returning to the man's throat. I don’t care.
Some part of him already deader than his body, Spike shut his eyes, accepting whatever happened next.
.
[Chapter Fourteen: Welcome to the Doublemeat Palace.]
Turn and Face the Strain.
[Sequel to The More Things Stay the Same and As Good as a Rest.]
When Buffy thought about falling in love again, she didn't expect it to be nearly so complicated as it actually turns out to be.
Also, she didn't expect it to be Spike. (She's not sure he did either.)
[Notes + Chapter One: I'm Not a Political Animal, But.]
/
[Chapter Twelve: The Next Thing You Know You’re LBJ.]
.
Chapter Thirteen: Handing the Keys over to Nixon.
“OK…” Buffy said, meeting Daniel’s eyes for a moment before she looked back over to Wesley. He wanted her to be calm. She could do calm. “Tell me this,” she tried, keeping her voice steady. “What the hell is going on?”
On either side of her, Kate and Cordelia looked just as bemused; on Kate it came across as sardonic, while Cordy had gone with nothing but outright shock. “I second that,” she said. “Wes…” She followed him as he turned to the sink, lowered her voice. Of course, in the small space they could all still hear what she was saying. “Seriously, what is he doing here? Does Angel know? Because he is not gonna be happy…”
There was the sound of crockery crunching together as Wesley apparently expressed himself with plates. “I shan’t imagine Angel knows, no,” he spat, storming back into the living space where Buffy and the others were still standing awkwardly. “But, since he has made it quite clear he wants nothing to do with me, I’m not certain it’s any of his business.”
Buffy frowned, trying to work out where that had come from. When she’d met Daniel the last time she and Spike were in town he’d seemed pretty dead-set on killing Angel - because he wanted revenge, but also, so he’d tried to argue reasonably, because he didn’t trust any vampire around a baby. It was kind of unclear if that had changed - and now he was here, with Wesley, who had... He’d almost been thinking the same thing, hadn't he? He’d been convinced by his books that Angel was going to hurt Connor, not by his own raging fundamentalism, but, more than that, he’d thought and said that Daniel was a good person, like he was someone they were meant to talk to rather than an evil demon to be beaten up and killed.
Well, Buffy supposed, this was certainly talking to him.
Angel would never have been on board with this, not now. And almost definitely not before, either. Even if he was all for saving people, Buffy knew he had his limits and, after the whole blood-switching business with Connor and Angel’s food, Daniel had pretty much gone through them never to return. Maybe that was why he'd cut Wesley out.
But then, Buffy thought, biting her lip as he gaze wandered around Wesley’s apartment – which was much, much tidier than it had been before when she’d been here – did it really make sense that Daniel would have done that with the blood? It seemed really strange that he would threaten Connor in that way, rather than go with something more direct.
And yet he'd been at Wolfram and Hart - and…
“Seriously,” she added out loud, breaking through her circling thoughts to stare down Daniel once again. He didn’t seem so broken, really, in the end – just defeated. “Here’s the thing I can’t get over. I mean,” she explained, “we haven’t really discussed this, so you’re gonna have to correct me if I’m wrong, but…” Even as he stood up to her scrutiny, something still seemed dangerous about Daniel, the same edge to his personality as he’d had before, like his actions would be unpredictable. “Didn’t you burn down Angel’s hotel? Like, recently?” That was the thing, wasn’t it, after all? Even if she realised now that she, Cordy and Kate – and Spike – had all pretty much avoided talking about it in concrete terms, there weren’t many other suspects. “And you were at Wolfram and Hart,” she added, not wanting that part to go without saying. “I saw you.”
Looking a little surprised by this, Daniel paused for a moment – but then deflated, sinking back into his chair and rubbing his face with his hands. “I was at the lawyers’ because of Sahjhan,” he explained to Wesley, mostly, though his eyes darted Buffy’s way every now and then as well. “My actions thus far have proved unsatisfactory to him and his desire for destruction, and so he has begun to act on his own.” Wesley himself was standing next to Cordelia, looking curious about this development, which he apparently hadn’t known about. Buffy wasn’t sure what they meant. “He had some dealings with a woman there, a Miss Morgan, and I wanted to know what.”
“Lilah,” Wesley groused, crossing his arms and apparently aware of who this woman was. “We probably have her to blame for Angel’s dietary fiasco…” Buffy assumed he meant the blood-swapping with that remark, which at least explained that one? “But I suppose she told you nothing at all?”
“She would not be persuaded to discuss the matter, no,” Daniel confirmed, dropping his eyes to the table. “The meeting was quite fruitless.”
“Question,” Cordy piped up then, holding up her finger where she sat on the back of the couch. “Who’s Sahjhan?”
Buffy was glad she’d asked; now she didn’t have to. “Yeah,” she simply agreed instead, still pretty much lost.
Shaking his head, Daniel explained, “Sahjhan is the name of the demon who transported me through time after I swore to him I would seek revenge on Angel.” He described it as though he was talking about someone else. “We made an arrangement.”
It sounded as if that hadn’t gone particularly well. Buffy groaned. Why did these things always get more complicated?
Apparently over this, however, Wesley gestured dismissively. “Holtz and Sahjhan have parted ways,” he insisted, optimistically blunt, like this meant they were supposed to cut the guy some slack. “Whatever Holtz has done, Sahjhan could do much worse: he’s the real threat we should be on the lookout for.”
“Great; so what do we need to do then?” Cordelia asked, with a perky sort of sarcasm. Buffy kept her mouth shut and let her speak, not quite sure what she made of this yet. “How do we kill this guy? Let’s do that.”
“To contain Sahjhan,” Daniel intoned, “we need a Resikhian Urn. It will contain his essence indefinitely, if the correct rituals are observed.”
Awesome, Buffy thought. I’ll add that to my shopping list. “Before we get too ahead of ourselves,” she said out loud, “and, really, I’m sorry if I’m being kind of slow, here, but you burned down Angel’s hotel. The whole investigatory headquarters. People’s home.” Looking around, she didn’t seem to be bringing anyone but Cordy with her on this (Kate just looked tired), but she really couldn’t let it go. “Can we not talk about that a little? As in… What?”
“I did not know it was home to anyone but the vampire,” he began, as if that made it OK. Then at least he started stumbling over his words, “Until, I confess, that is…” For a moment he hesitated, looking at Wesley with a certain amount of suspicion on his face. Buffy had no idea what that was about, still caught up on the way they were letting go his attempted murder of Angel. Maybe they had to, if he did feel bad about it; maybe they were meant to be moving on – but it didn’t feel right to her, though she couldn’t work out why. “We investigated after the fact,” Daniel continued, still not speaking smoothly. Honestly, he looked pained. “Justine and I disagreed…”
He shook his head, saying no more, so Buffy looked at Wesley, who was scowling at her. It was like she’d disappointed him with her manners or something, but she didn’t know what to make of that. Surely even if they gave Daniel a pass on the recovery train, that didn’t meant she had to like him? Or treat him like he hadn’t recently wanted people dead? “The hotel was a turning point,” Wesley then spoke up, analysing uninformatively. “The last act he and his followers committed against Angel. Can we leave it there?”
From the way he was twitching, Buffy got the impression Wesley was suggesting this mainly because he knew about as much as she did: not very much at all. And wasn’t that just wonderful?
Seriously, Buffy tried to work out, at what point had Wesley the paranoid ex-watcher decided to take on faith that Daniel the anti-vampire zealot was having a real moral crisis? Why was he so much more convinced than her? Not that she was unconvinced, but there was still so much information Daniel was clearly holding back.
Apparently this question showed on her face, because Wesley smiled, wryly. “I was ostracised for simply talking to the man,” he explained, like he'd given up. “It seemed like I might as well listen to him as well, if only to get my money’s worth from the whole experience.”
So… As far as she could tell, he was listening to Daniel as a way of getting back at Angel and convincing himself this was all worthwhile.
Buffy looked at Kate, not much caring anymore about the disagreement the other woman didn’t even know they’d had. With this situation, Buffy just really wanted someone to give her an idea of what to do. Because – “This is actually ridiculous,” she found herself saying, shocked and shaking her head. “Totally and completely.”
Her mouth thinning, the other woman said nothing, but the quirk of her eyebrow seemed to express nonetheless, Yeah, well; this is why I have rules. Maybe you think they’re harsh, but you can’t run your life like this.
Before Buffy could decide whether she agreed, however, Wesley interrupted. “And what is it you suggest we do?” he snapped, the lines on his face even more pronounced as he clenched his jaw. “Since you took it upon yourself to invite everybody here, what do you propose for the rest of the evening?”
Affronted, Buffy glared at him, then looked away briefly to the clock on the mantelpiece. It was getting late, she decided. Later than she wanted it to be – and she was tired of waiting. “Well, since Spike should have been here by now, there’s clearly something happening where we aren’t. I say we go back to the hotel and try and find him, before we all lose our minds from whatever fumes are clearly smoking into this apartment.”
“Uh,” Cordelia cut in before Wesley could reply. “Is that really the best plan? It’s not exactly likely we’re gonna…”
“It’s a great plan,” Buffy spoke over her. They couldn’t stay here, she decided. It was too hard to think and she was getting the overwhelming urge to smash things.
“Good, yes,” Wesley agreed with her, though his motives for wanting them out of his apartment were pretty clear. “Go. I’ll send Spike after you if he turns up.”
Looking upset now, Cordelia turned to him and tried to mediate. “Wes…”she pleaded, and at least got out of him something approaching a conflicted expression.
“Oh, you’re coming with us,” Buffy told him anyway, because he was the one who’d asked her for a plan. She looked over to Daniel too, making sure he realised he was included. As far as she was concerned, this situation was getting fixed up tonight, so that she could rest up and go home for some peace and quiet. Finally. “You’ve gotta talk this out with Angel sometime,” she added, in case they were still reasonable. “Might as well come along and find him now.”
Either her skills in persuasion were better than she remembered, or what she said actually managed to strike a chord, because, after some demurring, they agreed.
There wasn’t much to say as the Katemobile wended its way through the traffic. Now that she wasn’t staring Wesley in the face, it was easier for Buffy to think about the possibility that Daniel was actually feeling guilty about what he’d done – but she still wasn’t sure what opinion she was supposed to have about it. She knew she counted herself as someone who cared about that, about people and their rehabilitation, but, really, it was difficult, wasn’t it? How could she feel nothing now that she’d seen the shell of the Hyperion, when she could remember everything he’d said about Angel? How much was she supposed to take on faith? At some point, surely, she’d just be gullible to believe him.
Looking over to Kate in the driving seat, Buffy wondered what it was like for her, really. It sounded like she didn’t have to think about these things, because all she needed to do was react to situations, follow protocol based on events as they revealed themselves. Maybe that was easier.
But Buffy couldn’t ever do the same, could she? So much of slaying vampires was preventative; it was about catching them as they came out of the ground, before they hurt someone. Maybe that was a numbers thing, a little, because there was only one of her and she couldn’t patrol everywhere all the time – but it was also just because a vampire’s factory setting was, well, evil, so there wasn’t any point in waiting until the danger came.
When it came down to it, she had to make a choice and draw the line with demons. Spike was different, because the Initiative had cut him off from killing and because he’d made himself that way, but that actually was an exception she could understand. A vampire on the street could kill someone, would kill someone and never give a damn; Spike couldn’t, for a start, and she trusted that he wouldn't do much more than hoard some evil eggs, believe that he’d done right, listen to her tell him he’d done wrong - not do it again. She judged everything she fought before they made a move.
With humans, though, with people who had souls and consciences, she couldn’t do that. Because all too often they did something, something terrible, then turned around and told you, ‘sorry’, actually felt it. The possibility that they would was all too great; she couldn't justify herself to act pre-emptively. So she had to... What?
Sighing, Buffy let the side of her head fall against the window. With her eyes closed, she almost felt like she could put up with its rumbling and rattling for the chance to rest and sleep, but more rationally she knew it wasn’t going to happen. And so she shook herself, forcing her eyes to look out once more into the city and the empty night-time streets. They swept by the window steadily, all long runs of grey windows and doorways and commercial premises.
Eventually, around Echo Park, they hit some traffic, which practically brought them to a standstill. There was work or something going on the road up ahead; Buffy wasn’t paying much attention. The lack of movement meant she was watching people instead of buildings, but that was OK. It still took her mind off things.
About halfway through a traffic jam, however, something caught her eye. It was a motorcycle, parked in an alleyway out of the light like its owner didn’t want it to be seen. More than that, it was familiar. The decoration wasn’t quite standard, had addition of chains and spikes, which weren’t so obvious against the metal chassis, but were more than noticeable when you were looking for them. Also, though she couldn’t quite tell in the low light, Buffy thought she could see where the seat had been ripped once and repaired, the result of one careless owner with razor claws and one careful owner with a lot of experience mending leather. The line of the seat covering wasn’t quite smooth around the back, so there was a visible difference where the top half of the leather panel caught the light with an inky-petrol colour and the lower half was just straight black.
All right, so the more she stared the more Buffy was pretty sure she was just seeing things, but she was going to call slayerly instinct and say that that was Spike’s motorbike. She’d been on it enough times that she could imagine herself climbing on in her mind’s eye, and there didn’t seem to be anything out of place. Also, this was a way better lead than chasing breadcrumbs of nothing away from the Hyperion.
“Hey,” she said to Kate, tapping her finger against the window. “That’s Spike’s bike. He’s around here somewhere.”
“Are you sure?” Kate asked, like she wanted to be certain before she turned off the main road, although the grateful expression on her face implied that she would accept any excuse to get out of this jam.
Cordelia sounded like she didn’t want to go out into the cold without a good reason. “How can you tell?” she asked.
“I can’t know one hundred per cent without getting closer,” Buffy replied, taking another look at the motorcycle. “But I think it could be – and he’s gotta be around here someplace, hasn’t he?”
After a moment’s hesitation, Kate sighed, accepting that they were going to go with this. “OK,” she said, looking around for ways out of the traffic. “I’m gonna need to park somewhere, so you go ahead. If it’s not his then you can probably get back here before I lose my place. We’re gonna have to meet back at the alley anyway,” she added, “else we’re gonna lose each other.”
“Right.” Buffy nodded, unbuckling. Remembering who else was in the car, she turned to the backseat before she got out and asked, “D’you wanna come with me, Cor?”
Cordelia looked out of the window herself, crinkling her nose as she apparently weighed up her options. “There isn’t any rush, I guess, is there? I think I’ll stay with Kate in case you can’t find him and we have to keep going.”
That sounded fair enough to Buffy. “OK,” she accepted, climbing out of the car into the rumble of the traffic jam, nimbly cutting between the two cars in the next lane to get over onto the sidewalk.
Closer inspection of the bike told her as much as she’d deduced in the car: as far as she could judge, it was Spike’s. The alley was a dead end, so that left her with two directions to choose from. Turning back to the road, she gave Kate and Cordy a thumbs up, in the hope they were looking out for one. Hopefully Wesley and Daniel were watching her for some sort of sign as well, though she’d actually lost track of which SUV with the tinted windows was Wesley’s; there were a few of them on the road.
Trusting her latent vampire hunting instincts, not to mention the likelihood of tinglies when Spike was nearby, Buffy paused for a moment, then turned and started walking back the way they'd just come.
It was time to be getting on. This much, Spike knew. Buffy would have been expecting him at the watcher’s for a while now, but he was still hanging around Angel’s hide out, trying to figure out what to do. The easiest thing would be to leave and come back, but – and most likely this was too many years of experience talking – he didn’t quite trust Angel to stay put until he came back to get this whole mess fixed straight. It was just as likely the old git would get it into his own and everyone else’s head that they’d be safer on the hoof, lost somewhere absolutely secret. And then they’d never be found again.
So that was why Spike was keeping guard outside the warehouse, having a smoke of some illicit cigarettes he’d nicked from the petrol station on the way up. He shouldn’t have been so weak, really, but the smoke was filling his throat very nicely indeed, and if the bloke at the till was dozy enough to fall for the old ‘a packet of Reds’ – quick sleight of hand – ‘and that was a packet of Reds, mate, did you get that; nah, wait, don’t bother; I’m giving up’… Well, he deserved to be ripped off, didn’t he?
With any luck, he’d have them all smoked before he got home and Dawn would never know. To Sunnydale, that was, not Revello Drive. It really was more than his unlife’s worth to start thinking about 1630 as his home, he was sure of it. Even if he was between domiciles at this precise moment in time…
Thinking of Revello Drive, however, was clearly setting his mind in free-association mode, because just at that moment he caught something on the breeze that smelt, funnily enough, like the very slightest scent of Eau de Summers making its way to him.
Oh, thank God.
Dropping the end of his fag to the gravel and crushing it reflexively with one of his new boots, Spike immediately headed out from behind the warehouse into the gravel yard, to get a better whiff. There was definitely something in the air, he decided. In any case, it was all too likely that Buffy had got bored waiting for him, so it definitely seemed like a good plan to sod Angel and make sure the person he actually cared about didn’t get lost trying to find him in the middle of LA. Quite how she’d got this close, he didn’t know, unless she’d run into Sneezy the demon as well, but that didn’t matter.
Out of the yard, he was back on the road, heading the way he’d come. It hadn’t been a very long walk from his bike, though, and he only had to turn one corner before he saw her.
She was stalking down the pavement with a determined frown on her face, like a leopard looking for a rogue gazelle. Naturally, she wasn’t looking where she was going, but concentrated on the other side of the road at every side street and alleyway she passed – the complete wrong direction. It took everything in him not to burst out laughing at her cute little earnest expression, especially after Angel's grumping; he was filled with the urge to run down the pavement like a bloody fool, spin her up into his arms before she had a chance to complain about the melodrama. It wasn’t fair that the sense of her already had him bouncing on his toes.
Miracle of miracles, she looked the right way at that moment and her big eyes widened to see him, twenty-five yards in front of her. “You aren’t gonna find me over there!” he yelled now the jig was up, grinning as he nodded to the other side of the road.
“Spike!” came her surprised reply, and he took that as his cue to close the gap between them, at a brisk pace which in no way resembled a run but matched her speed entirely. “You’re here.” She spoke more softly when they were at last in touching distance, holding up her right arm as if to do just that, or maybe give him a hug.
Finally with her again, he didn’t give one fuck about avoiding melodrama anymore. Given how often they shagged, snogged and generally lived in each other’s bodily fluids, he didn’t think it was taking too much of a liberty to greet her by looping his arms around her waist and lifting her up against him, tipping his head back a touch to encourage one long smack of a hello kiss. It sent shivers right through him, and if that wasn’t how a bloke was meant to start an evening of dealing with bollocks from his grandsire, he didn’t know what was.
Thankfully, once he’d taken the lead Buffy was more than happy to follow up, closing her arms – both arms, he noticed – around his neck and sliding down the front of him so they could stand for a more substantial snog. He was feeling almost breathless as she looked by the time she pulled away, panting as she rested her forehead against his. “Well, that was – wow,” she said, smiling so widely he was helpless to do anything but smile back. “Remind me I’m not allowed to go twelve hours without that again.”
“Has it only been that long?” he murmured, sounding like a prat as he ran his right hand up and down her back, getting shivers out of her. She still had the brace on, by the feel of it, but presumably slayer healing had her feeling the last few steps to all better now.
Nuzzling her head into his shoulder, it felt like she wanted nothing more than a good snooze. “Yep,” she confirmed all the same. “Probably less, actually, and we still have stuff to do.” Reluctantly, then, he had to let her pull back from him and nod her head back the way she’d come. “Kate and Cordelia should be back that way, along with some extra special guests. We’re meeting by your bike, for real this time.” Then she sighed. “We're gonna have to…”
He hiked a thumb back over his shoulder as the worried silence fell. “Angel and co. are holed up in a warehouse thataway,” he told her; she glanced around his head. “Let’s pick up your lot and get on with the show, yeah?”
“Sure,” she agreed, an ironic lilt to her voice, like she'd missed daft stuff like him. “Although, d’you think Angel’s gonna come out of the shadows or just keep stalking you like a big stalker guy?”
Startled, Spike whipped around. Sure enough, Angel was lurking at the end of the street, only now emerging from the shadows. He couldn’t have been there for very long, but Spike cursed himself nonetheless for letting himself get upwind. Even if that had been necessary to find a certain slayer currently found and standing next to him, it wasn’t good for keeping face. Still, he could brazen it out. “All right, Grandpa?” he yelled down towards him. For some reason it made Buffy freeze up; she started wrenching on his sleeve. “Best get a move on; we’re off to see your…” He trailed off, turning to face Buffy. “What?”
Cringing, she murmured an explanation. “That’s not gonna be the best idea,” she said, just as Angel started to stiffly head their way. “We’ve ended up with Wes and Holtz in the party too…”
“Oh, bloody hell,” he swore, trying not to raise his voice. This wasn’t going to go well. “You might have mentioned that,” he accused.
“Sorry!” Buffy tilted up her hands at the wrists in the miniaturised gesture of apology; he was so pathetic he couldn’t even feel angry with her. Especially when she added, “You were very distracting.”
The problem was, she looked like she needed it: the crease-lines of anxiety were setting in. “Yeah, well,“ he tried quickly as Angel approached, not sure what else to say. Last thing he needed was for them both to be nervous. “Let’s get out of this mess first and then I’ll distract you a bit more, all right?” She jabbed him in the ribs for that remark – but it did make her snort, so he felt a little better.
It didn’t endear either of them to Angel, however, when he got into comfortable talking distance. “What are you so happy about?” he asked truculently.
“Nothing,” Buffy replied quickly, apparently far more sensible than Spike was feeling as she didn’t elaborate any further. “Come on,” she added, shutting down the conversation as she started leading the way back to bike.
It didn’t take long to get there, but Spike was on edge the whole way as he walked next to Angel, especially after he and Buffy had got through the requisite hellos. “You gonna mention why you were following me, then?” he asked when he couldn’t take it anymore.
“I was actually coming to talk to you,” Angel told him, supercilious to the max. Of course; he had Buffy to show off for now. “I thought you might’ve got the wrong impression – but then you started tracking something, so I thought I should see what it was. I didn’t know it was gonna be Buffy.”
But he had been worried about what Spike was going to say to her, that much was certain. Spike could see it churning in his eyes, the worry that he might have shared his plans about killing Holtz, either in cold blood or just lukewarm. Saint Angel the Holy Martyr didn’t want any rumour like that getting near his reputation, even if it was true.
It didn’t matter, though, so Spike decided to make no comment and simply grunt instead. It sounded like they were going to be seeing Holtz soon enough, and then things would be out of Spike’s hands anyway. None of that helped his nervousness, but he had more than a century’s practice keeping a lid on that, so he did.
A minute later, and they were at the bike, as yet without company. If he and Buffy had been on their own it would have been a prime opportunity for another kiss, or a bit more of a catch up than they’d been able to have on the phone, but they weren’t so it wasn’t. He checked his oil instead, just to have something to do with his hands.
“Um,” Buffy said awkwardly. “They should be here soon.” Then it was Angel’s turn to grunt.
They waited a little while longer. Naturally, by sheer sod’s law, it was Wesley and Holtz who arrived first. And that was when everything started going wrong.
“You!” Angel growled at the man Spike assumed had to be Holtz. Everything froze; Spike found himself filled with that horrible dream-like sense of slow motion, all his limbs turned to jelly as he panicked. Because this was the moment he'd been dreading, wasn't it? The moment he'd seen coming.
Holtz and Wesley, who looked like an absolute wreck, even if Spike did say so himself, were clearly surprised to see Angel there. They were frozen in the alley’s entrance, just across from where Spike was standing by his bike, near the other wall. They weren’t going to react in time, to whatever happened.
But what was happening? Flipping his head round, Spike saw Buffy’s equal look of shock – because clearly, no, she wasn’t aware of the hotel fire’s specifics, Connor’s place in it all. Either that or she grossly underestimated Angel’s taste in revenge. Next to her, of course, was the vampire himself, demon face full on and threatening, all yellow eyes and fangs.
There was a split second before Angel leapt, every ounce of vampire strength and speed aiding him. In less time, something in Spike’s mind must have made the decision, though when he thought about it afterwards he didn’t quite remember thinking it through. A second more and Holtz would have been a dying man, a few more seconds and he would have been gone – but those second didn’t happen. Spike was faster, fast enough, shoving his way towards the man quicker than Angel could cross the few yards between himself and his prey. What should have been a killing pounce instead brought him smack into Spike’s hands, arms, upper body, barrelling him into the wall.
Winded, Spike shoved and sent Angel reeling away from him. As time rushed back to normal, he heard the roaring. “I’ll kill you! I’ll fucking kill you!” At least he'd called that one right.
All the humans there had good reaction times and they were catching up now. Buffy’s eyes were on Angel; Wesley’s eyes were on him – Spike was meeting them, checking the other man was safe – and Holtz…
Right at Spike’s side, it took an instant for Holtz to recognise the threat to his life. The thing was, it turned out, this gnarly little man from another time was used to such things, even when he was on the edge, and he had come prepared. There was a crossbow in his hands and in a moment the point of its wooden bolt was pressing into Spike’s chest. The prick of pressure, pain was on his left hand side, right over where his old heart wasn’t beating.
In front of him, inches away, was Holtz. Spike didn’t know how that had happened, but he was. “Come any closer,” he threatened, the words intended for Angel and sent back over his shoulder, where he was looking, “and I’ll kill him. You’ll have the blood of us both on your hands.”
Oh, fuck. Yeah, he'd called this, but he hadn't seen far enough ahead, clearly.
Panicking now and not even ashamed of it, Spike looked over Holtz’s shoulder to Angel’s face. It was still fangy; his eyes were still yellow – but for a moment it was possible to communicate. Please, Spike found himself thinking, the pressure of the bolt far more real, unwavering, unaffected than anything he’d felt before. The chip was already loosing warning charges, right along with the adrenaline – not quite enough to harm, but enough that every flicker of thought about escaping came with a caution. This was going to hurt, he realised, whatever happened.
Spike had almost forgotten about the chip. All his time was spent with Buffy, where it didn’t work, or with demons, where it wasn’t meant to. How had he forgotten about the chip? It was possible he could force Holtz’s arm somewhere less threatening and push past him, but he’d be on the floor immediately, defenceless. Doomed.
Please, he thought again, involuntarily. Why did his plans always go wrong?
There was no mercy in Angel’s expression, however. He seemed to be weighing up his options, his chance for revenge versus Spike’s chance for survival. It only took a couple of seconds growling for him to decide.
One hundred and twenty years of a mistake set against a month or two of a miracle. Spike felt like he should have known he didn’t stand a chance. It was written all over Angel’s face. You know what? he was thinking, responding to Holtz’s threat, gaze returning to the man's throat. I don’t care.
Some part of him already deader than his body, Spike shut his eyes, accepting whatever happened next.
.
[Chapter Fourteen: Welcome to the Doublemeat Palace.]
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Date: 25/05/2012 07:25 (UTC)What can I say? ;)