Chapter 8
I can’t evaluate Angel’s reaction to the news that Spike is back. He’s nothing like Spike– I can’t read him at all. Not anymore, anyway. But he agrees to fly to Cleveland and talk to Spike. Well, he only agrees when I threaten to come to LA with a whole army of slayers, including Dana, the psycho one, and take him by force.
I’m not proud of myself. But hey, sometimes you have to play it tough. I made sure not to tell Spike. For one thing, I figured he didn’t want to see Angel. For another, I think it would really titillate him, the prospect of all those slayers chaining Angel up– I know it put a gleam in Xander’s eye, as he listened in on my threatening phone call.
Xander insists on meeting me at the garden, hoping to see a fight, but at least he promises to remain out of sight. I take Taylor with me as I go to pick Angel up. Another slayer, even a newbie, will probably be helpful if, in fact, there is a fight.
Angel is tense and uncommunicative as we drive through the city at dusk. I don’t know him anymore. But then, I never did, really. I remember loving him so utterly, but I never understood him. I never understood why he did certain things, like deceiving me about his being a vampire, and telling me he’d always help me and then leaving me. I never even really understood why he loved me. And I don’t know when he stopped. I glance at him in the rear-view mirror, and of course I don’t see him. I feel him, but there’s just a blank spot where his image should be.
He makes no protest when I stop at the garden store. Fleur is just closing up for the evening, but she’s happy to help me out. Anything for poor darling Spike. I come out a couple minutes later with a cardboard box containing four pots, which Taylor obligingly keeps on her lap. She’s growing, I think grudgingly. I mean, a week ago, she’d never have let dirt anywhere near her Versace pants. I can tell she’s just fascinated by all this, and she’s probably going to email her other slayerette friends tonight, all about Buffy’s ex, the other vampire ex. I sort of wish she’d been around when I was going out with Josh, so I could prove I’ve had human boyfriends too.
But right now, I’ve got other things to worry about. Like whether Spike will ever forgive me. It’s for his own good, but he might not see it that way.
As I get out of the car, I feel in my pocket for the email Willow sent me, the one with the curse-reversal she invented. She doesn’t have a lot of confidence in it, but it can’t hurt, can it? I wait till Xander drives up in his pickup truck, and leave Angel out there on the sidewalk with him, and send Taylor around to the door Spike uses as an exit. Then I enter the garden, carrying the little pots and the email.
Spike is by the other door, digging. Got to get him away from there, so he can’t easily escape. “Hey, honey, I got you something,” I say as he looks up. He comes towards me, brushing the mud off his hands, smiling. “These are Sweet Williams. They stand for gallantry.”
He kind of ducks his head like the compliment is too much, but he takes the cardboard box and kisses me full on the mouth. I kind of melt, consider maybe slipping out and telling Angel just to go home, that we’re fine the way we are. But just then, Spike raises his head. He senses vampire. Senses Angel. Very deliberately he turns away from me, taking the red and white plants and surveying the garden for an empty spot. He finds one by the path, and sets the box down, and goes and gets his trowel.
“Spike,” I say firmly. “You know I love you. You know whatever I do, it’s because I think it’s right for you.”
He looks up. He’s got that kind of growly expression. But he doesn’t protest. He just goes back to digging. Encouraged, I say, “I want you just to listen to Angel. I don’t know what he’s going to say. But I know whatever he says will be important.”
I suddenly remember Willow’s email, and pull it out. Even with Spike’s candles, it’s too dark to read, so I have to fumble to find my penlight. Finally I read aloud,
All silent spells be uncast
All muting hexes be undone
All hushing curses be unpassed
And let there be loosing of your tongue.
Spike shakes his head. “Come on, Spike, try. Say my name.”
He sighs, and his mouth shapes Buffy, but no sound comes out. I can tell he’s disappointed. We both wanted this to work without bringing Angel into it. But Angel’s here, so we might as well make use of him. At least I’ll find out what happened, why Gunn can’t be around Angel anymore, why Spike didn’t go back to him.
So I go usher Angel in, sending Xander around to stand guard with Taylor. I know they’ll have the door cracked open, but that’s okay. Who knows how quickly they’ll need to react, if one or the other vampire takes offense.
Angel comes into the garden and looks around. He doesn’t look at Spike. He just looks around at all the flowers, the plant boxes, the candles. He turns back and looks at the pond and its little waterfall. You’d think he was a judge for the neighborhood beautification contest or something. Spike never even looks up, but I can see the tension in his shoulders as he carefully sets one plant in the hole.
Finally Angel says to me, “You want me to say something. What?”
I’m annoyed. Really annoyed. Not ready-to-stake annoyed, but ready-to-say-mean-things annoyed. “I want you to talk to him about that last day. The last time you saw him.” I add, kind of meanly, “He was still talking then.”
“Such a drama queen,” Angel mutters. But even that doesn’t make Spike look up. He’s determined to ignore Angel.
But Angel approaches him. He stands on the path, a dozen feet away, and looks down at Spike. “The last day. Yeah. Okay. Do you even remember?”
No answer. Of course. I hoped that somehow seeing Angel would bring his voice back– I mean, that he’d yell at him or something. But Spike doesn’t even look up from his work.
“I get it. Everyone gets it. You’re mad. I guess I don’t blame you. But you’re back, so how about just letting it go? No harm done, right?”
I know this is not what Spike needs to hear. But if I yell at Angel, tell him to apologize, whatever it takes, it’ll be all about me, and not about them. So I press my lips tight together and sit here on the edge of the plant box, hurting.
Angel’s standing, looming over Spike. “You’re back. You always come back. What does that mean? It means it didn’t take. Didn’t even matter. It means my plan worked. See?”
Spike doesn’t look up, but his hand stills on the trowel. He stops moving. He’s listening.
Angel notices too. He moves a foot closer. His voice gets low. It’s both cajoling and threatening, and suddenly I have some idea how he kept Spike by him during that year he was lost to me. “Come on, boy. You’re just hurting yourself with this muteness thing. And hurting Buffy. You’re not punishing me. You can’t punish me. I just don’t care enough, haven’t you figured that out?”
My breath catches, and I start to rise. Then I force myself to stay put. This is what Spike needs to hear. Needs to know. No matter how much it hurts us both.
Maybe it hurts Angel too, to say it. To speak it out loud. To hear himself.
I hope so.
I ‘m watching Angel from behind– a big man, dark in the darkness, his dark hair catching the flicker of the candlelight and reflecting it back. I can’t see his face.
I remember being so in love with him once, long ago. Oh, maybe in love with him for a long time after that. I don’t know anymore. That girl who loved him died at the tower. The one who came back… well, she learned, finally. Finally. To give love. To do love. Not just to feel love. To be happy in love, and not just mourn for its loss.
Angel moves a step closer, and Spike’s hand tightens on the trowel. But he doesn’t get up, doesn’t get ready to protect himself.
“You never learn,” Angel says. His voice has dropped to a whisper. I think he’s hoping I can’t hear him. But I can. It’s as if I’m right there by Spike, listening with Spike. Hearing with Spike. “You never learn. I said come here , and you came to me. You had that look on your face, like you were wary, but you couldn’t help yourself. I said, come here, lad . It was the lad, wasn’t it? I knew that would get you there. I knew it would break through. You’re so easy. I just had to pretend I cared, and you’d do anything I wanted. And I wanted you to come over and you did.”
What does he mean? Is he talking about that last day? Spike is absolutely still, his face turned away. He is listening.
“I could tell you were a little suspicious. Just a little. You thought I might punch you or something, didn’t you? But you thought it was worth it. Thought it was okay getting a little beat up because I called you lad and I wanted you by me, and you didn’t really care why. You just wanted to think you mattered to me.”
Angel’s voice is soft– and hard. Cold. “And you didn’t. Didn’t matter, did you? Never have. And you never realize that, do you? Every time, all I have to do is pretend you matter, and you’re my fledgling again.”
I can’t bear it. It’s got to be breaking Spike’s heart. It’s breaking my heart. But Angel is going on, speaking harshly now. “You’re so fucking stupid, Spike. How many times have I done this to you? One way or another? And you fall for it everytime.”
Now, finally, Spike moves, turns slightly to look at him. Angel’s voice drops again. “Weren’t you suspicious when I took hold of you? Jesus. When I hugged you. What were you thinking? You were really thinking I was hugging you? That I wanted to be your sire, show my affection? It never occurred to you it was a trick? That I needed you close, needed you disarmed?”
I can feel Spike’s tension. He wants to leave. He doesn’t want to hear this. But Angel goes on relentlessly. “No. Of course not. Never occurred to you. There’s some stupid piece of you that believes I care. So you’re so easy to fool. I just have to pretend….”
Angel stops talking. He looks down at Spike. Then he says, softly, “Do you remember any of it? When I bit you, you started to struggle. Then you stopped. What were you thinking? You were thinking I had some plan. That I needed you to do this. That it was part of destroying the Senior Partners. Stupid fledge. You should have known better. And then I started to let you go, and you looked up at me. Grateful, huh? I didn’t take it all. Let you keep some of your own blood. Never occurred to you that I had to weaken you. That I had to kill you. That I had a stake all ready for you. Do you remember? Oh. Sure. You remember all of it. That’s why…”
That’s why Spike can’t speak. Oh. Oh. I never–
Now Angel looks back, right at me. His eyes are glowing golden in the darkness, and I realize he’s gone into vamp face. He thinks I will attack him. He thinks I will get my vengeance. But I stay still. I stay still for Spike.
“You remember what I said to you? What I whispered?” He’s speaking to Spike, but staring straight at me. “When Buffy killed me, you know what she said? She said, ‘Close your eyes.’ She wanted to protect me. Didn’t want me to be scared. But I didn’t say that. I just didn’t want you to alert the others. Didn’t want you to yell. So I said, ‘Don’t say anything.’ That’s what I said. And you were obedient. Christ. The most disobedient childe any vampire produced, and you were obedient there at the last. And you’re still obeying me, aren’t you? They brought you back, but you still can’t say anything.”
Spike sets his trowel down. Touches the petal of the plant. Won’t look up. He’s … ashamed. I can feel it. Ashamed of what happened to him. Ashamed of loving.
Suddenly Angel spins around, and I tense, thinking he’s going to attack Spike again. But instead he just whispers. “I had to do it. Don’t you understand? I needed your blood, see. My blood. Your blood. I had to take the blood of my blood. And I had to sacrifice my own boy. You see? You see? My own boy. It was either you or Connor. My son Connor.”
I don’t know what he’s talking about. But Spike must, for he lifts his head and looks up at Angel.
“And he– he’s just a kid. You’ve lived longer than your allotted time, and he hasn’t lived a fraction of his. They wanted me to kill him. They were using the prophecy to force me to kill him. But I tricked them. They didn’t realize you were my boy too. That I could sacrifice you and let Connor live…. That you would always come to me. That you’d always trust me. That I could kill you because you trusted me. That I could save Connor by killing you.”
It’s terrible. I hate hearing it. I hate Spike having to hear it. But– but if this is it, if this is the trauma that silenced him, if he had to block out the memory by blocking out his ability to express it… then it’s good. Truth is good. It must be. Finally Angel is confessing the truth– that he used Spike’s love to betray him. That he did it to save another.
Spike is looking past Angel at me. I rise and start towards him. I’m willing him to say something. And Angel says, “Okay. Now you know. You can say it now. Tell me that I’m a monster. That you hate me. All that. Go ahead and say it. I’ll listen.”
Spike is still looking at me. He opens his mouth. I realize he’s not going to speak to Angel, but to me, that what he wants to say, he wants to say at me.
But nothing comes out.
I stop beside Angel, and hear him make a disgusted sound as he turns away. “He’s being stubborn. He’s still trying to punish me. He’s doing this deliberately–”
Spike leaps up – blur of motion. We’ve fought together a thousand times, and I know what’s coming. I move quickly out of the way, just as Spike connects. It’s a perfect tackle, and Angel goes down hard on the flagstones, his head connecting with a sickening thud.
Spike methodically bangs Angel against the ground. I let it go on for a few seconds, then I try to pull him off. No luck. “Taylor!” I call, and the girl appears right beside me, and she lends her strength, and together we pull Spike away.
He lets us do it. Then he stands and shakes us off. I can tell from his expression he’s trying to decide whether to kick Angel or let him lie there.
He lets him go. Starts to walk towards the cemetery door. Then I burst into tears, and he stops, and turns, and comes back to me. I press my face against his shirt and cry. “I thought that if you just relived it– if you just confronted whatever happened– I would never have made you go through that if I didn’t think it would help.”
He tilts my head up and kisses my wet cheeks, and I hear Taylor sniffing beside me, and Angel groaning on the ground below.
“Try the curse-remover again.”
This comes from Xander, who is leaning against the wall, his arms crossed. “Try it. No! Have Angel read it.”
I pull away from Spike. “Why?”
Xander shrugs. “You heard him. He said he told Spike not to say anything. What if that was a spell? What if when he said it, he didn’t know it, but he was channeling some spell?”
“Yeah,” I say slowly. “Like Willow didn’t know she was using a spell when she said I should just marry Spike, and we ended up engaged.”
“One of my worst memories,” Xander says, but Spike is smiling, rubbing his fist on my cheek to dry the tears. He remembers that spell pretty fondly. So do I, I guess, though I remember I pretended to be disgusted. Denial has always been my middle name.
“So the one who does the spell has to undo it?” Taylor asks.
“I guess. It can’t hurt.” Roughly she and I pull Angel to a stand. I shove the email into his hand. “Here.”
“Christ. This won’t work. I didn’t make any spell.” And he complains a bit about how hard it is to read in the darkness, until Spike growls and Taylor raises her fist. “Okay, okay.” He goes back into vamp face and squints at the page. “I’d remember – -” Then he pauses. “Hmm. I’d just gotten into the Circle of the Black Thorn that day. Maybe- -”
“Read it!” I yell, and hastily he looks back at the paper.
And then, in a quiet voice, he reads:
All silent spells be uncast
All muting hexes be undone
All hushing curses be unpassed
And let there be loosing of your tongue.
When he finishes, there is utter silence. Spike’s arms close around me, and I think it’s okay. It’s okay. We love each other. Nothing else matters.
And then, he whispers in my ear. “Buffy.”
We all head back home, and Xander makes Spike make the call for the pizza, and Taylor just sits in the living room and glares at Angel. He’s found himself an ice bag – I’m damned if I’m going to help him – and he’s sitting on the very edge of the couch. I can tell he’s trying to decide if one of us is going to take him back to the airport or if he should call a cab.
Spike comes in, all smiley from making a successful connection with the pizza parlor, and Xander says, “Hey, bro, that was one amazing tackle. You should try out for the Cleveland Browns.”
Spike sits down on the arm of my chair. His voice is still a little rusty, and his words come a little slow. “You know, long before there were Cleveland Browns, there were Oxford Blues.” When none of us got it, he said, “The rugby team.”
Angel presses the icebag against his temple. “William never made the rugby squad.”
Spike gives him a sharp look. “I watched. I learned.”
This must mean something to Angel, because he turns his gaze away. When he speaks, his voice is subdued. “So how did you do it? Come back? Did the Powers bring you back?” After a moment, he adds, “Did you, you know, shanshu?”
Spike makes an annoyed sound. “Shanshu. Christ. Aren’t we done with that shit? Besides, the shanshu only comes to one who is there at the apocalypse. You dusted me before I could help, remember?”
Angel kind of hangs his head. But he’s persistent. This matters to him. “So how’d you do it?”
“Yeah,” Xander says. “And how did you get here to Cleveland?”
Spike tilts his head and tightens his hand on my shoulder. “I just wanted. I wanted to be with Buffy. And so I made it happen.”
“Wow,” Taylor breathes. “That’s awesome.”
“Reality bends to desire,” Spike says. “And no one ever desired more than I did.”
He bends down and kisses me, and it gets all sort of watery and pastel there for a moment, the world, and then the doorbell rings. And Xander goes off and comes back with pizza, and I’m more composed now, and I even let go of Spike’s hand long enough for us to snatch a couple slices.
Angel goes off with his icebag and cellphone, and comes back a minute later. “Uh, I called a cab. I’ll just go out and wait for it on the porch.”
He starts for the door, and then turns back to Spike. “Look. Just don’t. Not anymore. Don’t trust me. I won’t ever care. And I’ll always betray you. I always have, and I always will. And I’m only telling you that because—”
But then he breaks off and doesn’t tell why. And I don’t care, and I don’t want Spike to care either. I want him just to … let go. Let go of the pain. Angel– Angel betrayed us both, and that is just what he does.
Spike nods, and just as Angel puts his hand on the doorknob, says, “So how is he? Your boy. Connor.”
Angel stares straight ahead at the closed door. “He’s okay. Away at Stanford. Doing well.”
“Good.”
And then Angel leaves, and Spike takes back my hand, and I don’t let go of him even though it means Taylor and Xander end up with most of the pizza.