Chapter 11: Revelations
A few days had passed since Buffy had had the unexpected but very enlightening pleasure of meeting William, and it seemed that Spike was intent on avoiding her. Before the chocolate incident, he had made a point of patrolling with her every night; now she was sure he was purposefully avoiding her. Was he embarrassed, maybe, by the folded sheet of paper bearing her name he had left on the kitchen table? She had not shown it to anyone, and was fairly certain that the poem written on it would never be part of a masterpieces anthology, but it still felt strange that these words had been written for her. Strange, but nice. She was impatient to talk to him again and see whether his behavior would be different now that she knew, what he probably thought was his darkest secret. William the Bloody had once been a gentleman. Hard to believe, yet undeniably true.
At the same time however, it was a good thing that he was laying low. Faith’s new Watcher had arrived a couple of days before, and she was a stickler for the rules, enough to shame Giles. Buffy doubted that Mrs. Post would approve of the gang receiving help from a vampire, even a souled one. And speaking of bleached wonders.
Buffy watched Willow as she wove her way around the dance floor from the restrooms and back to their table when her friend suddenly paused. She turned and walked toward the bar, and Buffy guessed that someone had called her name. Someone named Spike. Determined to speak to him, Buffy left their table and arrived in time to hear Willow say that she had found nothing new.
“Nothing new about what?” she inquired curiously.
“Oh, Spike asked me to find a way to foolproof his soul,” Willow replied excitedly, as always, thrilled by the prospect of anything having to do with magic. Her excitement deflated however when she added: “But I haven’t found how to do it yet.”
Buffy was about to ask Spike why he wanted to make his soul failsafe, but as she caught his eye she understood. It wasn’t for him. The realization was like a sudden icy shower, and she shivered, barely noticing when Willow excused herself to join Oz who presently was coming off stage.
“She’s still with the wolf, then?” Spike said, sounding surprised, and Buffy frowned at him.
“What do you mean, still? Why wouldn’t she be?”
His eyes had left the couple already, to settle instead on the table where Xander and Cordelia were sitting alone, Faith having left them for the dance floor. He seemed somewhat puzzled as he watched them flirt, and he shook his head slowly, muttering very low:
“Could have sworn she smelled like.”
He cut himself short, and Buffy flashed him a look of distaste.
“You smelled Willow? Can I say ewww? I’m deeply disappointed, William. These are not the manners of a gentleman.”
She had to struggle to keep a straight face when saying the last words, but couldn’t hold her laughter when he looked at her with wide, horrified eyes.
“What the fuck.”
“You thought I’d forget just because you hid for a few days?” she teased him with a grin. “Of course I didn’t. I am the ‘warrior of fire’, I can’t.”
Before she could finish, he was striding away; if the fiery glare he had thrown her was anything to judge from, he was angry.
Why?
She hurried after him, catching up with him outside.
“What is wrong with you?” she called after him. “First you hide, now you run away?”
The reaction was immediate. He stopped dead in his tracks and slowly turned to her, eyes glowing amber in the darkness surrounding them.
“What is wrong with me?” he repeated, his voice like ice. “What the hell is wrong with you, I’d ask. You act like a child, not a fucking warrior. Why don’t you grow up a little, Slayer?”
Taken aback, she stared at him. What was he rambling about now? Was he completely insane? Again?
“If you need a staking,” she said warningly, “I’ll be glad to prove to you I’m not a child.”
He snorted. “You’re not? Oh, excuse me. I must have mistaken you for the other Slayer. The one who likes to make fun of the stupid bloke who tries to keep her alive. Or maybe you’re the one who can’t decide if she wants a murderer alive or dead because she shagged him once.”
“I wasn’t making fun of you!” she shot back angrily. “I thought William was sweet. Definitely nicer than you are now!”
He snorted at that, shaking his head in disbelief, and she continued heatedly. “And you’re the one who doesn’t want to kill Angelus anyway.”
“Yeah, because you’ve been trying real hard, haven’t you, luv? But it’s so difficult to stake a chained vamp, maybe I could give.”
He stopped abruptly; his eyes shifted behind her. Buffy looked back as Faith stepped forward. She felt her throat constrict. How much had the brunette heard – and how much had she understood?
“I thought you two were going to patrol, but it sounds more like you’re getting ready for war,” Faith joked uneasily. When neither of them answered, she added, addressing Buffy: “Did you tell him about the meeting tomorrow? We probably could use his help.”
The fun had already started when Spike arrived at the library the next day, and for a few moments, he hesitated behind the door, listening as the Scoobies took verbal shots at Buffy about Angelus. The night before, he had hoped that Faith hadn’t heard more than was safe, but obviously, she had and had shared her newfound knowledge with the others. The others weren’t happy, and that was putting it mildly. If he walked in there, Spike might very well get staked for his role in the mess. It would be safer to walk away, but when had he ever played it safe?
He entered the library as if the he owned the place. The room fell silent as he approached the table and stood next to Buffy. He was still angry with her for mocking him, William, and his poem the night before – just as he had been so sure she would – but his soul refused to let her take full responsibility for Angelus’ continued existence.
“You want to blame someone, blame me,” he said, slowly making in turn eye contact with all of the Scoobies, finishing with the Watcher. “I’m the one who found him. I didn’t let the Slayer stake him. And I want to see him souled again before he is dust.”
A few seconds worth of silence were followed by an eruption of words from all sides. Ignoring them, Spike kept focused on the silent Watcher. He was the one who would make the decision in the end, deciding if anyone was going to be staked.
“Hey! That’s why you wanted an improved curse! Not for you, but, but. for him!”
Willow’s exclamation brought an end to the others’ ramblings, and Spike nodded as he glanced at her.
“That’s why,” he confirmed. “I was going to give you a couple more days to find an answer; then I would have asked you to do it, loophole or not, rather than take the risk that he would escape. You have to trust me on that.”
“Trust you?” someone said from behind him, and Spike turned to see a woman walk into the library and come to stand by Faith. Instinctively, he knew what she was, if not who. A Watcher.
“Trusting vampires seems like an awfully dangerous thing to do,” she commented with a condescending glance toward Giles. “Even vampires with a soul. From what I understand, they are prone to lose it, aren’t they Ms. Summers?”
The Slayer blushed brightly, but Spike soon realized it wasn’t from shame, but rather from anger.
“Could you all maybe stop flinging that at me?” she spat heatedly. “Don’t you think I know I made a mistake? A very, very big one? Don’t you think I remember it every time I see Giles? Every time I walk past Miss Calendar’s room? Every time I walk into this room and see Kendra on the floor?”
Her voice broke on the last words, but she wasn’t crying. Not yet. Spike could understand too well for comfort how she felt, and his soul was crying in sympathy for hers. Without being conscious of doing it, he rested a hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly, barely aware of Giles quiet words informing everyone that he needed to talk with his Slayer, and of everyone leaving until it was just the three of them.
Giles words were harsh, but he certainly had cause. Neither Spike nor Buffy could find anything to reply.
Dear Gwendolyn had warned them against trusting me. Turned out, she wasn’t that trustworthy herself. Had myself a good laugh when it was all over and the Scoobies were left to digest that the big bad this time had been a Watcher. Or rather, ex-Watcher, since her slight tendency to practice dark magic had gotten her kicked out of that fine organization. One thing’s sure, she knew what she was about. Might have found that pretty glove appealing myself, if I hadn’t been all soul-having. Hell of a fight to get it off her though, and without me, the Slayers would have been fried. The slayer of Slayers saving two.
Alright, alright, no need to get fussy. Help, not save. A bloke can’t even embellish a little anymore.
She did have one redeeming quality, our wannabe destroyer. Books. The girl apparently traveled with a few rare volumes, and Giles managed to get his hands on them. They gave him and Willow the key.
Two days after the whole glove near fiasco, the Slayer came to the mansion, told me – and Angelus – that they had an answer to the loophole and were fixing the last details. One more night, and they were there. They could have done the spell from the library, but for some reason they decided to do it at the mansion. They were all there except for Faith, even those who had no part in the spell. It’s as if they wanted to witness the resouling, to be sure that Angelus was gone for good. And if he wasn’t. they had stakes. It took hours of chanting and nasty smelling herbs – or at least it felt like hours to me. All the while, Angelus was struggling to free himself more than ever before. He was utterly enraged, promising all of us the most painful death. That didn’t stop them.
Eventually, there was a flash of light. Angelus fell to his knees, head bent down as if dizzy. The silence was so complete; I couldn’t even hear the humans’ respiration. They must have been holding their breath. All of us were waiting. For what? I’m not sure. A sudden sign proclaiming that this was now Angel in front of us? A tearful apology for everything that had happened since the last time he had been around? A cruel laugh that would have informed us the spell hadn’t worked?
We all woke up from our daze when he finally looked up, blinking wildly as his gaze swept the room. He seemed startled for a second when he saw me standing there with the Scoobies, but not as startled as me when I realized I could see it in his eyes. See the soul.
“It worked,” I announced to the humans, and there were a couple of relieved sigh from the kids. Buffy started to walk toward Angel, but Giles’ hand on her arm stopped her. He did a quick spell, something I vaguely remembered him doing on me during the summer. A simple trick to reveal if a demon had a soul or not. The test was positive.
“It worked,” Giles echoed my words. He didn’t sound like he really believed. Or maybe he didn’t want to believe. I often wondered why he had agreed to help Willow modify the spell and perform it. I suppose he thought it would make his Slayer happy. Of course it did. Not for long though.
“What worked? What’s going on? Buffy?”
Angel’s first words. Clueless as ever.
The kids trickled out of the mansion, silent, until only the Watcher, Buffy and myself were left, all three of us facing Angel. He still hadn’t received an answer. It took him calling Buffy’s name again for her to finally step forward and free him from the chains. She lowered herself to her knees in front of him, comforting him with hesitant touches and soft words. It was somewhat eerie to see her act as if the last months, almost year had been nothing but a nightmare, and to seemingly fall back in love with him like that. I suppose she had never stopped loving Angel even when Angelus was making her life hell.
It hurt me, because, as I already admitted, I had a crush on her. But when she babbled that nothing had happened, that Angel shouldn’t worry about it and everything would be fine, I saw the Watcher jerk back as if he had been slapped. I’m sure she didn’t mean it like that. The last thing she would have wanted was to hurt Giles, but she did, very effectively. Deeply enough that, when I drew him outside, he followed without a word of protest. Followed me to the closest human bar, and we proceeded to drink ourselves into a stupor. He was drunk long before me, but even then he kept quiet. Finest example of British upbringing. Or maybe I wasn’t the best person for him to talk to. I helped him back to his flat when he looked like he had enough liquor in him to stand the night, opened the door for him and pushed him in. I didn’t have an invite, and didn’t want one. He stumbled a little, but had the presence of mind to come back to the door to close it.
“I haven’t forgotten,” I told him then. “And if it were to bring you any peace, I’d apologize.”
I wasn’t as drunk as I wished I had been. Neither was he, because he nodded, slowly, and there was something on his face that told me he understood what I meant. Thankfully, he didn’t say a word before closing the door. I don’t think I could have stood it if he had.
Sunrise wasn’t anywhere close, but I didn’t feel like staying out. Drunk, but again not enough to think I was in any state to pick a fight. I was surprised to discover that the Slayer was gone when I entered the mansion; part of me had expected them to fall into bed right away. Surprised to find Angel standing in front of the fireplace, staring into the flames as if they held all the answers. Surprised when he spoke to me, without even turning to look at me.
“You have a soul.”
I can’t really remember what his voice sounded like. I like to imagine it was the voice of a whiny child who suddenly discovers he’s not as unique as he thought he was. Must have grated that he wasn’t anymore ‘the’ vampire with a soul, but only one of the two.
“So do you,” I replied blankly. “Again.”
Finally, he turned toward me. He looked. haunted. There’s no other word for it. Made me choke on all the nasty things I had in store for him. Made me forget all the questions I had waited so long to ask. Made me unable to stand anymore, and so I collapsed on the floor, my back to the wall, as I had done so many times before when I had wished I had Angel in front of me instead of Angelus. He told me, then, that he couldn’t remember everything. Told me he had shreds of memories, but couldn’t make sense of them. Said Buffy had been unable to talk about it. Asked me to fill him in.
I did.
I didn’t sugarcoat it. Didn’t forget anything. But also tried not to say ‘you’ did this and ‘you’ that. Instead, it was ‘Angelus killed the Watcher’s girl’. ‘Angelus tortured the Watcher’. ‘Angelus’ tried to send us all to hell. ‘Angelus’. did so many things that my soul wished I didn’t know about; things I wished I hadn’t done myself in the past. I knew, from first hand knowledge, that however I said it he would blame himself for all of it. He could pretend and convince anyone else that he was totally distinct from Angelus, but he couldn’t fool himself, and he couldn’t fool me, not anymore. I knew better, now. Didn’t mean I needed to make it even more painful for him.
Because it was painful. With every word, I could see him hurting a little more. But I didn’t stop. He had a right to know. Had a right to his own guilt. Everyone was going to look at him and remember what had happened. He had a right to know exactly what they would be thinking of when seeing him.
When I was done with my tale, he was silent for a long time. Then he thanked me, no louder than a whisper. I think there were tears on his face when he walked by me and toward his room, but I may have been mistaken.
I had told him how he had lost his soul, and that it wouldn’t happen again. He never asked if my soul had conditions on it or not. He probably had too much to brood about. The question of cursing me with a no-loophole spell wasn’t raised by anyone until my losing my soul had become an issue.