Chapter 23: September 2003
Wesley picked up the phone on the fourth ring, just before the answering machine activated. “Hello?”
“Wesley? It’s Nika.”
The ex-Watcher blinked. He’d known both Spike and Nika for several months now, but Nika had never called him at his apartment. Normally, he either called Spike or simply showed up whenever he needed the vampire’s help. “Is something wrong?”
“You might say that,” Nika replied cryptically. “Are you busy tonight?”
Wesley somehow doubted she was asking him on a date. “No, I didn’t have any plans.”
“Then would you mind coming over and getting Spike?”
It was an odd turn of phrase, almost as though she were asking him to babysit a child, which hardly described the vampire. “Getting him…?” Wesley paused. “Are you sure this isn’t an emergency?” He rather wanted to know whether he should come over to the house guns blazing (literally speaking), or if it were less urgent than that.
“It’s not an emergency,” she assured him. “But Spike shouldn’t be alone tonight, and I have to be at work in an hour. I think it would be better if he stayed with you.”
Well, it was a bit odd, but Wesley had no reason to say no. While he wouldn’t call his relationship with the vampire a close one, by this point they had both saved each other’s life several times. They might not talk about it, but there was a strong sense of loyalty building in their relationship. “Give me thirty minutes,” he said, and then hung up.
It actually took him twenty minutes. Wesley pulled his bike up into Nika’s driveway next to Spike’s. She met him at the door, opening it before he could knock. Obviously, she’d been waiting for him, and Wesley’s level of curiosity ratcheted up another notch.
“He’s in the basement,” she said quietly, stepping out onto the porch. She was dressed in the dark blue uniform of a paramedic, her brown hair braided and hanging in a thick tail down her back. Wesley thought she looked more severe, more remote than he remembered her being before. Although, it might have simply been the deep circles under her eyes. “I guess—this has something to do with Buffy. Something about the time of year she returned?”
Wesley suddenly understood. “Buffy was dead. Her friends brought her back.” He did remember that much, at least. It had been early fall when Buffy or one of her friends had called and Angel had gone to meet her.
Nika raised an eyebrow. She didn’t know what it said about her life that resurrection didn’t seem too unbelievable. “He came back completely pissed last night, and pretty beat up. I—” Nika fell silent, not knowing how much she should tell the man about Spike’s state of mind. “I think he might do something he’ll regret if he’s left to himself.”
Wesley nodded. “He can stay with me tonight. Anniversaries—” He paused. “Anniversaries can be difficult.” Blue eyes met gray, and they exchanged a look of understanding. They both had dates that were hard to remember and impossible to forget.
She nodded in relief. “I’ll go get him.”
Stepping into the front hall to wait, Wesley leaned up against the wall. He found his current situation interesting, to say the least. He never would have believed that he would find himself in the position of having to take care of a soulless vampire, that was for certain. He wouldn’t say that he minded; it was merely—different.
Nika came back out into the hallway, followed closely by Spike. The vampire, who was normally cheerful and cocky to the point of annoyance, was the picture of dejection. Wesley noticed that Spike didn’t look up or meet Nika’s eyes, even when she tried to catch his attention. Wesley shot her a questioning look, but she shook her head, silently signaling that it wasn’t the time. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Spike,” she said, making it sound much more like a statement than a question.
The ghost of a smile passed over the vampire’s lips. “Yeah, luv. I’ll see you.”
Nika shot Wesley a meaningful glance as they left, though what she was trying to communicate, he had no idea. “I need to kill somethin’,” Spike announced as they approached their bikes.
Wesley frowned, trying to think if he knew of a place they could go where they would be guaranteed to run into something nasty. “We could go to the warehouse district. There’s usually a nest or two.”
“Perfect.”
Wesley had a hard time keeping up with the vampire as Spike weaved in and out of traffic. He was a blur of black—black bike, black helmet, black leather. The ex-Watcher gritted his teeth and kept up his speed, hoping that neither of them got pulled over for breaking the traffic laws. Based on Nika’s concern and Spike’s mood, he feared for anyone brave enough to attempt to stop him.
Wesley finally lost the vampire when forced to stop at a red light. Pushing up the faceplate on his helmet, he sighed, waiting for the light to change. There was still a good chance that he could catch up—Spike liked particular areas of the warehouse district better than others, saying they were more conducive to the breeding of vermin. Wesley just hoped that Spike didn’t end up getting himself into more trouble than he could handle. As reckless as the vampire could be, it was entirely possible that he could get himself dusted before Wesley even arrived.
Sure enough, Spike’s motorcycle was parked outside one of the empty warehouses that often housed a nest. Wesley knew that in addition to their own for-pay adventures, Spike went out hunting on his own. He had often wondered if it didn’t have something to do with Spike’s decision not to feed on humans, if his almost-nightly spot of violence was the only thing that kept the bloodlust at bay.
Wesley pulled up next to Spike’s ride. He had no idea if Spike had spotted any activity, but he pulled the short ax and a stake from his saddlebags—yet another reason he had no desire to get pulled over by the authorities.
Heaving a sigh, Wesley breathed out a quick prayer to whatever power watched out for wayward vampires and ex-Watchers. If Spike managed to get himself dusted, Nika would never forgive him.
Upon entering the warehouse, he realized that Spike had indeed found a nest and that the vampire was well on his way to taking care of it. In fact, the look on Spike’s face was so manic that Wesley simply found a crate to sit on and watched the action unfold.
Spike was a whirlwind of destruction, moving with a fluidity and grace that was a pleasure to view. When all the vampires were dust, Wesley stood. “Will that be enough for the evening, or do we need to find a demon bar and pick a fight?”
Spike snarled wordlessly, turning with mindless ferocity, brushing past Wesley and heading out the door. Wesley considered not following for a moment, but then discarded the idea. It was suddenly quite important that Spike didn’t get himself killed. After all, Wesley didn’t know that many people who were actually speaking to him that he could afford to lose one.
The vampire had apparently gone on foot, as his bike was still parked out front, and so he followed the sounds of fists on demon flesh. Wesley watched as Spike took out his fury on a rather large demon of indeterminate breeding. It appeared to be a Kashalk demon, but Spike had done enough damage to make the identification difficult.
When the demon finally lay dead in the alley, Spike stood over the body panting unnecessarily. “Spike?” Wesley approached hesitantly, wondering if Spike would turn on him. He moved quickly when he saw that Spike’s leg wasn’t up to supporting him. Blood dripped down his chin from his nose, and there was a rip in his right leg of his jeans that displayed a nasty gash. “Can you make it back to my place?”
Spike wouldn’t look at him. “Yeah.”
“Let’s go then.”
The trip to his apartment was more sedate, Spike following him rather than the other way around. Wesley made sure to follow all the traffic laws—he thought he might set a good example. He watched as Spike limped into his apartment, shutting the door behind them. “Why don’t you have a seat? I’ll see if I can find something for your leg.”
“Vampire here,” Spike all but growled. “Doesn’t matter.”
“I’ll be right back,” Wesley said, ignoring him. He came back a few minutes later with a first aid kit and two bottles of beer straight from the pantry.
“Ta,” Spike muttered, taking the proffered bottle and stretching out his leg in front of him without being asked.
“Would you like to tell me what that was all about?” Wesley asked quietly, ripping the jeans a little further to get better access to the wound. Spike didn’t answer immediately, so he amended his question. “Why was Danika so worried? Did you two have a fight?”
“No, she just heard somethin’ she didn’t want to hear,” Spike replied sullenly. He took a pull on his bottle and watched Wesley’s movements disinterestedly. “Came home drunk an’ said some things I shouldn’t’ve.”
“I see.” Wesley actually didn’t—see, that is. The situation had seemed a little more serious than Spike simply mouthing off when he was drunk. After all, Spike hardly needed alcohol in his system to say something he was going to regret. “What did you say?”
Spike looked away. “Told her I almost ate someone last night.”
Wesley managed to hide any alarm caused by his blunt statement. “Any particular reason?”
“Didn’t like the look of ‘im,” Spike said, a sort of grim satisfaction in his voice at seeing the pulse jump in Wesley’s throat. “Doesn’t matter, since I didn’t bloody well eat the bastard.”
“Any particular reason you felt tempted last night and not any other night?”
Spike pulled away from Wesley’s finishing touches on the bandage. “I was hungry, okay? An’ besides, what’s the bloody point? Why shouldn’t I eat people? ‘s what I do! ‘m a vampire!”
Wesley calmly sat down in his arm chair, fixing Spike with an imperturbable gaze. “Do you want to feed from me?” he asked.
“No!” Spike said angrily, then there was a flash of emotion in his eyes that Wesley had a difficult time interpreting. The vampire sank down lower on the couch. “Bloody hell, yeah. Yeah, I do.”
Wesley knew he probably should have been afraid. Perhaps he should have grabbed a weapon and forced Spike out the door of his apartment, done the spell blocking his re-entrance. It was then that he realized how far he’d fallen from the Watcher’s Code. It was one thing to work for a vampire with a soul who was searching for redemption. It was another thing entirely to work with a soulless, unchipped bloodsucker who didn’t seem to feel any particular guilt over his past crimes. If his father knew the state of things, Wesley knew he wouldn’t limit himself to vicious criticism. Rather, Roger Wyndam-Pryce would most likely disinherit him and then refuse to speak to his only son again.
He considered that thought. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to let his father know he was working with William the Bloody. Perhaps the old man would do him a favor and die of apoplexy.
Shaking off his morbid thoughts, Wesley turned his attention back on Spike, suddenly understanding the tension between him and Nika. “And Nika? Do you have a desire to feed from her?”
“‘m a vampire, mate,” Spike said bitterly. “I want to suck the world dry.”
“Then why don’t you?” Wesley asked, deliberately tilting his head to the side to give Spike a good look at his bare neck. “You could, you know. I doubt I could stop you.” Wesley did have the good sense to wonder if he hadn’t picked up a death wish somewhere. He could hardly believe that he was offering Spike his neck, and tried to decide whether or not he really cared whether or not Spike drained him.
He decided he probably didn’t care nearly as much as he should.
Spike looked at him incredulously. “What are you? Suicidal?”
“Maybe I am,” Wesley admitted. “In any case, it doesn’t really matter. You’re right. You are a vampire, and vampires by definition kill humans. So why don’t you start with me?”
“You wouldn’t be nearly as much fun if you were dead, mate,” Spike replied with dark humor. “‘sides, I want to taste you because ‘m hungry, not because I really want to kill you.”
Now that Spike was talking about it, Wesley decided to give free rein to his curiosity. He’d been wondering for a while now why it was that Spike didn’t need a soul to restrain his bloodlust, whereas Angel would most assuredly turn into a vicious killer the moment he lost his again. “What keeps you from killing everyone around you?”
Spike shrugged and took another pull on his beer. “Dunno. Just don’t see humans that way anymore, I guess.”
“When was the last time you fed?”
“You mean other than from Nika?” Spike asked, knowing that Wesley had heard the story. “Uh, ’bout two or three years ago.” He frowned, remembering the painful circumstances around that little event. He had the same burning pain in his gut now as he had then. “I’d just told Buffy how I felt, right? An’ she shot me down—brutally, I might add. Not even the ‘let’s be friends’ speech.”
Wesley winced in sympathy. He’d had his own share of rejection. “I thought you had the chip then.”
“Did,” Spike said briefly. “Dru showed up about that time, an’ she said I didn’t have to worry ’bout the chip. I could ignore it. An’ then we went out an’ she killed for me.”
“What happened then?” Wesley was more than a little intrigued. He’d never spoken to Angel about his bloodlust before, what it took for him not to feed on humans. Wesley had simply assumed from the vampire’s demeanor that such questions weren’t acceptable. Their relationship had always been one that was too much that of superior to employee to allow for such an exchange, and Angel hadn’t really liked to acknowledge his state of mind anyway.
“I drank,” Spike said shortly. “She was dead.” There was a long silence. “I didn’t want to, though. I did, but I didn’t. Does that make any sense at all?” he asked plaintively.
Wesley looked at the other man with a great deal of compassion. “Yes. It makes a great deal of sense, Spike.”
“You ever love someone who didn’t love you back?” Spike asked. “Or who loved someone else?”
Wesley smiled in a pained manner. “It seems to be a curse of mine.”
“What was her name?” Spike asked, wanting to know. They hadn’t asked many personal questions; knowing the bare bones of the other’s story had been enough. It was different now, though. Spike needed to know how you loved and lost and didn’t end up destroying everything else in your pain.
“Fred.” At Spike’s look of surprise, he clarified. “Her name is Winifred Burkle.”
Spike watched him, seeking a hint as to how Wesley had managed. “What happened to her?”
“She fell in love with my best friend.”
The vampire winced in sympathy. “What did you do?”
“Nothing,” Wesley said softly. “There was nothing I could do.” He let the silence ride, and then asked again, “What happened, Spike?”
“Got a letter from Dawn,” Spike said in a low voice. “She was talkin’ ’bout Buffy’s new boyfriend. Seems she hasn’t asked about me yet. She didn’t even care that I left town.”
Wesley nodded. “Is that why you wanted to eat someone?”
“What’s the point?” Spike muttered disconsolately. “If she’s never even gonna know that I got the chip out and can still control myself, then what’s the point of it all anyway?”
“Perhaps it has nothing to do with Buffy,” Wesley suggested. “Perhaps it has more to do with you.” When Spike looked up, startled, he continued. “I believe that if you’ve made it this far, there’s no point in going back, Spike. If you should want to, however, I think it might be wise to start with me. I don’t particularly want to have to kill you.” He left unspoken the fact that he had already lost enough friends.
Spike stared at the other man. “Why do you treat me like a man?”
“Because you act like one.”
Wesley watched as Spike swallowed and then took a deep breath. He marveled at his humanity. Although Angel hadn’t wanted to talk about his nature but had seemed to continually remind everyone of what he was, Spike was different. Half the time Wesley didn’t even remember that his partner was a vampire. “Right,” Spike finally managed.
Wesley decided it was time to change the subject. “Do you know how to play Risk?”
Spike blinked, then frowned. “That the game where you’re strivin’ for world domination?” At Wesley’s nod, Spike smirked. “Look who you’re talkin’ to, mate. Think I wouldn’t know how to play a game that was all about takin’ over as much territory as you can?”
“How silly of me,” Wesley said dryly. “Would you like to play?” He hadn’t pulled the game out since he and Gunn had played it at Cordelia’s apartment. It had been a very long time since he’d felt like playing any games at all.
Spike regarded him intently, finally nodding slowly. “Yeah, let’s play then. Better than thinkin’ about what ‘m not doin’ tonight.”
~~~~~
The apartment was quiet, but Spike could hear Wesley’s slow, steady breathing. He stood in the doorway of the other man’s bedroom, watching the still figure on the bed. Wesley had done alright by him, Spike had to admit. So had Nika, for that matter. He’d expected either or both of them to get on his case for coming as close as he had to killing again. Nevermind that the man had been an arsehole of the highest caliber; Spike knew that it would have been a move in the wrong direction to give into the temptation.
The desire to feed, to kill, to throw it all to the wind had been so strong, though. The time of year had something to do with it, of course. Two years ago he had stood at the bottom of the stairs and watched Buffy descend with a feeling of awe and wonder. She had returned, and if he’d had a thrice-cursed soul, he’d have lost it right then.
Spike wished Buffy had stayed in her grave.
He turned away from his contemplation of Wesley’s sleeping form, returning to the couch and settling down. It had just hit him when he’d gotten Dawn’s letter that it was all over. Any hope that he might have had that Buffy would eventually ask after him, that she would care to know what had become of him, had been lost. Nika had given him hope that he could live without her. She had given him a glimpse of what a real relationship might look like.
That didn’t mean he’d given up all hope of someday having a real relationship with Buffy.
If she had stayed in her coffin, his hope would have remained buried with her. Spike never would have thought that anything could become of his love, as she was, after all, dead. After that kiss at the back of the Bronze with the music, after he’d thought they might be able to make something of their relationship, to lose her—
Spike buried his face in his pillow. He’d never wanted to let her go. Screwing his eyes shut, he forced himself to remember why he had left, why he refused to go back. He thought about the way Nika and Wesley had always treated him, then compared it to the way Buffy and her super-friends had acted.
Then, at last, he let go of any hope that had remained long past its expiration date.
~~~~~
Buffy was cleaning when she found it. Peter was coming over, and as it would be his first impression of her abilities as a housekeeper, she wanted it to be a good one. Since first-time guests got the grand tour, he’d end up seeing Dawn’s room too, and Buffy just thought she’d straighten up.
She certainly had never thought to discover his coat.
“What are you doing?” Dawn’s voice was icy.
Buffy dropped the leather duster as though it had burned her. “I—Peter is coming over tonight. I wanted to clean things up.”
“Next time ask me to do it,” Dawn replied haughtily. “You don’t have any right to go through my things.”
“I wasn’t going through your things!” Buffy protested vehemently. “It was sitting right there in your closet.”
“Yeah, so?” Dawn challenged. “Sometimes I like to wear it.”
Buffy stared at her sister, feeling strangely violated, as though Dawn hadn’t any right to that coat. If anyone had the right to keep it, it would be her. She had been—”How did you get it, Dawn?”
“It’s none of your business, Buffy,” Dawn said, her voice hard. She sounded like a very pissed off woman, and not like the girl that she was. “Besides, you didn’t ask the right question.”
Suddenly Buffy wanted very badly to know what her sister knew about Spike’s disappearance. She wanted to know where he was and what he was doing and if he was ever coming back. Most days she could convince herself that she didn’t care, but right then she cared very much. It didn’t matter that a new guy was coming over for the first time, or that she hadn’t asked about Spike’s whereabouts before.
Buffy opened her mouth to ask the question, and then snapped it shut again. No. He was gone. That was all that mattered. Good riddance to bad rubbish. That was what Xander had said when he realized Spike was gone and (hopefully) wasn’t coming back, and her friend had been correct. One less vampire to worry about, right? She’d slept with him, so it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility that she might wonder about him, but that was it.
She didn’t have to act on it.
Dawn watched the play of emotions over her sister’s expressive face, and she knew exactly when Buffy had decided not to ask the question. The Slayer picked up the coat handed it back to her stiffly. “Peter will be here in about an hour.”
“I won’t be,” Dawn replied coolly. “I’m going out with some friends tonight.”
Buffy frowned. “Dawn, it wouldn’t hurt you to be friendly.”
“No, actually, it would probably kill me,” Dawn said snidely. “I didn’t get the memo that said I have to be nice to your boyfriends, Buffy. Besides, Peter’s a jerk.”
“He is not!” Buffy replied heatedly. “Fine. Look, if you don’t want to be here, don’t be here, then. You’ve got a curfew, though.” She turned on her heel and stomped out the door.
Dawn sank down on her bed, the duster cradled in her arms. Resolutely, she stood, shaking out the coat and hanging it carefully in her closet. “I miss you, Spike,” she whispered as though the vampire might suddenly appear, filling out the leather duster. “I wish you were here.”
And then she shut the closet door.