Chapter 5: April 2003
Wesley hesitated in front of Nika’s door. He felt, quite suddenly, a little like that young man who had come to Sunnydale all those years ago. A little scared, a lot nervous, suddenly certain that his life was going to change, and possibly not for the better. It took a concerted effort on his part to shake off those feelings and knock on the door.
“Hi.” Nika smiled warmly when she saw him. Wesley couldn’t remember the last time someone looked at him as though they were happy to see him. It was before Connor—before he’d made the colossal error of handing Connor over to Holtz. (Not that he’d meant to. Not that anyone had cared to ask.)
“Hello,” he replied, a little more formally. “I, uh, brought your shirt back.”
She took it from his grasp, an odd look on her face. Nika could smell Wesley on it, a scent distinct from Danny. Her husband had always worn a certain cologne, used a certain soap. It was a smell she knew from a hundred yards away, it seemed. And now—now the shirt smelled so differently that she never would have known Danny had worn it. “Thank you.” Nika stepped away from the doorway. “Come on in. Spike left as soon as the sun went down, so it’s just us.”
“Does he do that often?” Wesley asked. “Leave, I mean?”
She shrugged. “Sometimes. When he’s feeling a bit rough. Usually he’ll go out and get himself into a good old fashioned bar brawl, and then come back here to have me patch him up.”
Wesley didn’t know what to say to that. It was clear that she and the vampire had worked out some sort of agreement, odd couple though they might be. “He really has gotten better over the last year,” Nika said, bustling around the small kitchen while Wesley watched from the doorway. “When I first met him, that right leg was nearly useless, and his arm wasn’t much better.” She looked back at him. “Have a seat,” she suggested.
Pulling out the same chair he had occupied the previous evening while she had fixed him up, Wesley cleared his throat. “May I ask you a question?”
“Of course, though I can’t promise to answer,” Nika replied lightly.
“What was in that drink you gave me last night?”
He could see her pause in her movements. She wore a long skirt and a man’s shirt tied at her stomach. For a moment, Wesley thought she looked as though she dated back to another era, with her clothing and long braid dangling down her back. “Why do you ask?”
“It did something to me,” he replied quietly, wanting to feel angry, and yet unable to summon the emotion. She had given him a peaceful night’s sleep for once—it was hard to feel justifiably angry over that.
There was a longer pause this time before he heard her sigh. She turned to look at him. “It was what I told you. Something to take the edge off. Nothing odd about what’s in there: willow bark, chamomille, licorice, some other herbs. The key is in the words you speak over it while you’re making it. It’s an old family charm that my nain taught me.”
“Nain?” Wesley asked, momentarily distracted. “You’re Welsh?”
“My mother and grandmother.” Nika turned back to the stove, still fussing. “She was the one who trained me to be a midwife.”
Wesley’s curiosity was threatening to get the better of him. There was something about this woman that intrigued him, more so than anyone had since—He stopped that thought. “Do you speak Welsh?”
“Quite well,” she admitted. “I lived over there for eight years, until I was 19. That’s when I married my husband, and we came back here.” Nika fixed him with a look, half playful challenge, half raw curiosity—not unlike his own. “I’ll tell you my story, if you’ll tell me yours.”
Wesley hesitated. There was no reason he shouldn’t tell her about himself. It wasn’t as though she would think more or less of him either way. It wasn’t as though it actually mattered. After all, he’d come tonight to return her shirt, and to allow her to repay him for saving her life. He had no intention of seeing her again, of making friends with her. “Alright,” he finally agreed. “You first.”
Nika raised an eyebrow and then shrugged, opening the oven and pulling out their dinner. “I think this story requires food,” she said. Wesley’s eyes widened when he saw what she’d made: roast beef and Yorkshire pudding.
“You didn’t have to go to all that trouble,” Wesley protested, though his mouth was already beginning to water. As she dished up, he realized that she’d made a typical British dinner, much like the ones he’d been used to eating at his parents’ table years ago, or at the Watchers’ Academy. Of course, he had a feeling the company would be better tonight.
Nika shrugged. “No trouble. I imagine it’s a bit hard to get the real thing here, and I like to cook. I used to all the time for Danny. Sometimes, I’ll make a good, spicy curry for Spike and me, but he doesn’t much go for this sort of meal.”
“I didn’t know vampires ate,” Wesley said, watching as she set the plate down in front of him, and then seated herself.
She smiled. “I would imagine Spike isn’t like most vampires. At least, not like I would think they’d be.”
He nodded, and began eating when she encouraged him to begin. “So, you lived in Wales for eight years?” he prompted.
Nika smiled when she realized he wasn’t going to let her off the hook. Not that she minded so much, as she planned on making sure he told her his story. She had her own reasons for being intrigued by the hard-eyed man. “My mom met my da while she was over here for university. They said it was love at first sight. They did what people normally do—married, finished school, had children.”
She took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. “When I was eleven, my parents allowed me to stay the night at a friend’s house, and I was to walk home the next day. It was only a block or two, but it was the first time they had let me do something like that, and I felt so grown up.” Nika smiled. “I was as excited as though it were Christmas. When I got home that day, the front door was unlocked. I went in and found my parents on their bed. They—they had ripped out their throats, and had—at the time, I didn’t understand what I was seeing. My mom didn’t die easy, though. I imagine my da didn’t either. My little sister was in the room we shared.”
Wesley was staring at her, horrified. It was easy to imagine the girl she’d been, finding the bodies of her entire family, alone, scared… “You don’t have to tell me,” he began.
Nika shook her head. “It was a long time ago,” she said softly. “And the tale will not take much longer. I ran out into the yard screaming, and the neighbors called the police. Only days later, they held the funerals and cremated the bodies by my grandmother’s demand. She knew what had killed them, and she wasn’t about to take any chances. And then she packed me up and took me home with her, to Wales. I had nowhere else to go, and I didn’t mind. My parents had made plans for me to study with her later, as she was a midwife, and it was what I wanted to do since I was small.”
There was a long pause as Nika took a few more bites, composing herself. Wesley was shaken out of his own complacency a little. He had spent the last few months feeling slightly sorry for himself. Not that he’d been completely wallowing in self-pity, but the emotion had certainly been an ever-present companion. Now, he was looking at a woman who had lost as much or more than he ever had, and she told her story without a hint of bitterness. “When did you meet your husband?” he asked, wanting to know what happened next, worried she wouldn’t want to continue.
He needn’t have been concerned. A gentle smile lit her face as she remembered. “I was sixteen. He was two years older and in Wales with his family. They were there for the annual festival that the Barach’na hold for Samhain. It was the first time he was old enough to participate. Grandmother and I were there to help with the festivities, as she had some friends among the older folks. I was already delivering babies and doing all that my grandmother could do.” Nika laughed suddenly. “There was dancing, and Danny came right up to me and asked me to dance. I didn’t even know his name, but I went anyway.”
She looked Wesley in the eye for the first time since beginning her story. “I loved him from that moment. We married when I was nineteen, after I had finished my training, and came here. Danny joined the police force, and I received training to be an EMT, since midwives can’t always find work. We had eight years together before he was killed, and we loved each other every moment of each year.”
“And your grandmother?” Wesley asked, almost afraid to broach the question. She had lost so many—
“Alive and well,” she replied, reading his fear. “She still visits, and I still visit her, though not as often as we used to.”
Wesley frowned, suddenly wanting to ask another question, wanting to postpone telling his own story for a while longer. His own tale was not less painful than hers, in its own way, and yet he suddenly couldn’t see walking away from this dinner, and this woman, for good. And Wesley did not want to have her think less of him, reveal his many faults so quickly. “You don’t have to tell me anything at all, if you don’t want to,” Nika suddenly said, reading his face.
“No, it’s okay,” Wesley replied, bracing himself. Slowly, he told her about his parents, about his training, about being one of the youngest ever to be selected as Watcher over an active Slayer. It was easy enough to be impassive about those things; they were long in the past. It was when he began to tell her how he’d come to L.A. and started working with Angel that he found himself unable to go on. Even if a year had passed, the wounds caused by his own betrayal of Angel, and the group’s abandonment of him, had not healed.
“What happened?” Nika asked when he stopped. She could see the carefully controlled pain in his eyes and knew that as happy as he might have been, it was gone now.
He shook his head. “I made a blunder that cost a friend his son. I thought—I thought I was doing the right thing, but I miscalculated badly.”
“And that’s why you’re an independent contractor now,” Nika finished for him sympathetically. “Who was your friend?”
“Angel,” Wesley replied. “I don’t know if you’ve heard of Angel Investigations, but—”
She nodded knowingly. “The vampire with a soul? I’ve heard of him—from Danny and Spike both. I don’t think Danny knew what to feel about him, and Spike certainly isn’t particularly sympathetic.”
“They have a long history together,” Wesley half-explained, relieved that he didn’t have to put his experiences into words just yet. Perhaps someday he’d be able to, but not now.
Nika stood abruptly. “Would you like some tea? I can promise you the real thing.”
Encouraged by the superb meal, Wesley nodded. “Please.”
She made tea the right way, he saw, using the loose leaf, rather than the bags. The aroma of the brew awakened his senses, reminded him again of how long it had been since he’d had a real cuppa. It had been too long, really. He’d almost forgotten how it smelled, how it tasted. He took a sip, the flavor easing down his throat, warming him from the inside. So little warmed him these days, not like Nika’s meal and tea had.
There was a bang from the front door, and Nika smiled fondly. “That will be Spike. He always manages to be here in time for dessert.”
Spike sauntered into the kitchen, and looked around at the repast. “I see you put out quite a spread, luv,” he commented, going to the fridge for his own meal.
Nika shrugged. “You know I like to cook.”
“And I don’t make nearly as appreciative an audience as the Watcher here,” he replied knowingly, looking over at Wesley. The two men stared at each other for a moment, testing the waters, trying to decide if the other was an interloper.
The silence stretched on, and Nika finally stood and gave Spike a gentle shove over towards the table. “Sit and eat your meal, Spike,” she ordered. “I was just about to get dessert out.”
“Right on time as usual, yeah?” he asked, easing himself down into the seat. Wesley noticed that he was still favoring the right leg, though not as much as the night before.
“How’s your leg?” he finally asked the vampire, the glimmer of an idea beginning in his brain. His problem, at least as an independent contractor, stemmed from the fact that he had to do it all: research, find clients, destroy the target. There were a few people he could call on, if he needed, but it wasn’t on a regular basis, and he didn’t always have the money to keep them around. Back when Angel had left the team during his Darla troubles, Wesley’d had Gunn and Cordelia to back him up. He was on his own now, and there were times when it put him in more danger than he liked.
Spike gave him a suspicious look, but finally decided to answer. “‘s fine. I was a bit tired last night. It’s always worse when ‘m tired.”
“Then you would have no objection to lending me a hand tonight?” Wesley asked. “I could use your help.”
“What’s in it for me?” Spike challenged him. He might have offered his services the night before, but that didn’t mean he was ready to leap into action at a moment’s notice. After thinking about his offer, the vampire realized that he’d put himself in a position to be used again, any time the Watcher needed more muscle. Spike had promised he wouldn’t put himself in that position again.
Wesley hesitated. “I’ll give you 25% of what I make from the job.”
Spike thought about it. That really wasn’t much, depending on how much Wesley got paid. On the other hand, it was a percentage, not a flat fee, which meant that his pay was dependent upon the Watcher’s. It seemed more fair, somehow, and Spike liked the idea of fair compensation. “Alright. What’s the job?”
Nika plopped the plate of cookies down in front of both of them. “Go on,” she encouraged. “You can eat and talk at the same time, and I know I don’t need any more sweets.” She started clearing the plates from the table.
Wesley stood as though to help. “I should—”
“You should sit and finish your conversation,” she said firmly. “Tonight, you’re my guest. Next time, I’ll put you to work.”
Wesley stared at her, something in his chest loosening as he realized that she wanted to have him return. Silently, he cautioned himself. It was the same feeling he’d had when Angel and Cordelia had begun including him in their group. He didn’t need that again. He couldn’t afford to go through that again. “Very well,” he finally said, turning back to Spike. “There’s some information I need, but the person who has it frequents a place where humans aren’t welcome. I’d go anyway, but if I don’t have to, it’s just as well.”
Spike nodded slowly. “So you want me to beat somebody up for you?” He sounded almost hopeful.
Wesley smiled. “Only if you want to.”
~~~~~
He waited outside the bar for much longer than made him comfortable. Wesley had sent Spike in an hour before, and the vampire still hadn’t come out, either with his information, or with the pay-off money. Worry began to creep in as to the general wisdom of trusting an unsouled, unchipped vampire with his money or his business.
He needn’t have been concerned, however. A few seconds after he’d made up his mind to go in after Spike, the vampire came strolling out the door, looking very smug. “Your guy’s name is Otto. Calls himself the German. He’s the one that’s been pullin’ off all the robberies, an’ he’s using the proceeds to fund his empire.”
Wesley’s eyes narrowed. “And it took you an hour to get that information?”
“Hey,” Spike said, raising his hands. “You didn’t give me a time frame, so don’t get your knickers in a twist, Watcher. You want to get all pansy-arsed on me, you can do it yourself next time.”
Spike was rather surprised to find himself flattened against the wall of the building, Wesley’s forearm at his throat. It wasn’t like he needed to breathe, but it was still uncomfortable. “My arse is not pansy,” Wesley said, very calmly.
“No, it’s not,” Spike said agreeably, deciding to humor the Watcher. Nevermind that he could rip the man’s throat out before he even knew what happened; he found himself feeling a grudging sort of respect.
“And stop calling me ‘Watcher,'” Wesley continued more irritably, letting Spike go. “That’s not what I am anymore.”
There was silence as Spike considered his request. “An’ what do you want me to call you?”
“Wesley will be just fine,” he replied.
Spike never used people’s names. It had everything to do with the fact that names rarely said anything about the person in question, or how he felt about that person. The nicknames he used said both, however, and to be asked to use someone’s given name was a little difficult. But he’d asked, and the Wa—Wesley had answered, and Spike missed the camraderie that came with fighting side by side with a person.
He’d always liked a good fight, solo or on a team, it didn’t really matter. Spike had become used to fighting with the Slayer and her Scoobies, though, and he liked having another person there to hear his quips and react to his moves. It seemed like Wesley was the one he was going to be stuck with if he wanted to make hunting a team sport.
And maybe it said something about the man that Spike was actually willing to use his given name. “Fine. Wesley.”
“So why did it take you so long?” Wesley asked.
Spike shrugged. “Nobody was in the mood to talk, so I had to use some persuasion.” Wesley could see a bruise beginning to form along Spike’s jaw. “Nothin’ to get upset about. Besides, I saved you some money.” He pulled out the cash Wesley had given him and pressed it into his hand.
Wesley regarded the cash thoughtfully before he pocketed it, then looked at Spike, who had an expectant look on his face. “You did say you wanted some action,” he said, looking at the vampire. “Want to pay a visit to Otto with me?”
“Sounds like fun, mate,” Spike replied, smiling.
Neither of them ever really acknowledged it, but that night was the beginning of their friendship. Wesley might have saved Spike and Nika the previous evening, but Spike returned the favor when Otto (a rather nasty Dralik demon) tried to rip Wesley’s entrails out with his bare claws. The rents that would have been in skin and muscle appeared in Spike’s leather jacket instead, and Wesley managed to put a bullet in the demon’s head from his position on the ground, under Spike.
As they stood over the dead body, Spike looked over at him. “You mean you actually get paid for this kind of thing?”
“Amazing, isn’t it?” Wesley asked, thinking that Spike probably found this work more like play than anything else.
The vampire shook his head. “When I think of all the dosh the Slayer missed out on…” He trailed off, and an expression crossed his face that Wesley could not read.
“Is that why you left Sunnydale?” the man asked softly. “Because of the Slayer?”
“Something like that,” Spike admitted. He suddenly turned to look at Wesley, wanting to tell somebody who would understand, who would see that what had happened mattered. “We were—involved, yeah? An’ then she beat me to a bloody pulp because I wouldn’t let her turn herself into the cops, an’ I left. I had no reason to stay after that, knowin’ she’d leave me to die without a backwards look.”
Wesley looked back at the dead demon. “If it makes you feel any better, Angel tried to kill me.”
They shared a look, and then they both smiled, an expression that had long been missing from their faces. “Well, if Peaches tried to kill you, you must be alright, mate,” Spike said.
And that was how it all started. With two endings.