Chapter 17: Differences
Upset with Angel’s attitude, Buffy banged the mansion’s door shut behind her and started walking down the alley. An apocalypse was at their door, the Hellmouth would open before sunrise, and all Angel seemed to have to say was that he was willing to die fighting. Well, so was she, but that didn’t mean she wanted to die or spend the night talking about it. Moreover, she certainly didn’t want to hear anything about Angel’s willingness to die. She didn’t want him to talk about that. She needed him to want to live, truly live, as much as a vampire could, and that meant enjoy life and every little thing in it. Including her.
The problem, as far as she could tell, was that Angel didn’t think he deserved to enjoy life. She hadn’t seen him laugh since he had returned. She could count on her fingers the number of times he had smiled, really smiled at her. She had tried, time and again, to convince him that not letting himself enjoy anything wasn’t going to make his guilt any less; but nothing had changed. He acted as if he might lose his soul at the smallest laugh, and it was driving her crazy.
Before she knew it, she was walking toward the cemetery she had dubbed as Spike’s. She had last been there a few days earlier, after he had missed several nights of patrol. She had come to his crypt and, feeling slightly guilty at intruding into his home without permission, had searched for any clue of what could have happened to him. There had been shattered remnants of bottles in one corner, but it had looked more as if someone had thrown a tantrum than as the result of a fight. No blood in the fridge, only a mostly empty bottle of whisky. Calling his name, she had climbed down the ladder to the lower level, and found only an unmade bed and a few empty storage crates. Her exploration hadn’t helped her decide if he was dust or still undead, and in the latter case, where. He still hadn’t told her much more than having needed to take a breath of fresh air out of town. Vampire humor.
Halfway to the cemetery, she wasn’t surprised when she came across him.
“‘Been looking for you all over town,” he said grumpily as a greeting. “‘Could warn a bloke when you decide to crisscross.”
“There’s an apocalypse tonight,” she interrupted him abruptly, more annoyed still by Angel than by Spike’s crabbiness.
He blinked, frowned, and shook his head.
“Could have sworn you said.”
“Apocalypse. Tonight. Yes, that’s what I said.”
She went to explain how the Hellmouth was about to be open and that they would need to battle the escaping demons while Willow and Giles worked to close it.
“Sounds like my kind of fun,” he commented with a smirk. “What time does the party start?”
For a second, she didn’t know how to answer. After Angel’s grand declaration, this simple acceptance of the coming fight was almost baffling. But also, strangely, comforting.
If Giles had had a few spare seconds to think during the fight , he certainly would have commented on the glee with which Spike was attacking the Hellmouth demon. As it was, he only reflected on his observation after the Hellmouth had been sealed again.
It seemed that Spike had discovered the purpose they had talked about a few times, and that he found more satisfaction in fighting the good fight than he had ever before. Whereas during the previous summer he had acted as if it didn’t matter if he won, lost, or died, he was now displaying what seemed like enthusiasm – and also, even more blatantly, recklessness.
The fight now over, the vampire still seemed to be full of energy, wandering about the room, straightening a chair, exchanging a couple of words with Faith, and now coming toward him.
“Nasty scratches you’ve got there, Watcher,” Spike commented, gesturing at his face. “Got any scotch?”
“This is a school library,” Giles replied mildly. “No, I don’t have alcohol here. And I am sure disinfectant would be more effective than alcohol.”
“‘T wasn’t for your face,” the vampire replied, clearly amused. “Thought we should properly celebrate our victory.”
Giles glanced around the room, observing the battlefield. Books on the floor, furniture broken, Angel still out cold and Buffy worried sick at his side, Willow dozing off where she sat on the steps, Faith cleaning a battle axe. Odd scene, but yes, Spike was right, they had won. They had survived yet another apocalypse. Indeed that was certainly reason enough to celebrate.
“Maybe just a glass,” he agreed with a slight inclination of his head, and Spike returned the nod with a small smile before sauntering off to where Angel and Buffy were.
Very peculiar vampire. But undoubtedly an asset to their little team, if not more. Giles had more than enough reasons not to want to trust a demon enough to call him a friend; yet, he was letting the blond mellow him. More than two years of being around teens nearly constantly had left Giles appreciative of the opportunity to share a drink and a few words with someone old enough to drink more than sodas.
Sighing, Giles settled on making his library presentable, or as much as it was possible. They were all waiting for Angel to regain consciousness and then it would be time to get some rest. It was the first time the original souled vampire had been around, and Giles couldn’t help tensing every time his gaze fell on him. He doubted he would ever be able to see Angel as innocuous again. He certainly never should have let his guard down in the first place.
He had a slight pause when he realized that he was undeniably letting his guard down all over again, with Spike this time, and considered for a second retracting his invitation. Maybe they ought to investigate if they could make Spike’s soul permanent too. He didn’t like to encourage Willow too much about experimenting with magic, but he’d talk to her about it.
Angel opened his eyes, and immediately closed them again. He was in hell, no doubt about it. Only in hell would Spike be standing over him grinning like that.
“Angel?”
The soft call of his name made him revise his judgment. Maybe not hell then, if Buffy was there. He opened his eyes again at the gentle touch on his cheek, and took in his surroundings. The library. The Scoobies – and Spike. Finally, the memory of the fight resurfaced. God, his head was throbbing.
“Back amongst the undead, peaches?”
As he sat up with Buffy’s help, he threw a nasty glare at his grand-childe. The blond had never seemed as irritating and obnoxious as he had been since getting a soul. The barest hint of concealed but real concern in his voice made it even more confusing.
“I was so worried,” Buffy said with a soft smile. “You’ve been unconscious for so long. The longest minutes of my life.”
She pulled him into a hug, and he allowed that simple contact for an instant, relishing her warmth and love. It wasn’t very often that he accepted such gestures. He couldn’t let himself accept them, couldn’t trust himself with Buffy’s safety.
He noticed despite himself that Spike had turned his back on them and walked to Giles at the first sign of affection, and filed that tidbit along with the others. He would have to confront the other vampire, and he would have to do it soon. Things couldn’t go on like that any longer.
Quickly, the group said their good-byes and separated; apparently, they had only been waiting for Angel to wake up before leaving for their respective homes. Buffy insisted on accompanying him back to the mansion, and he could do nothing but agree. The walk there was sweet despite his still painful head. Her hand was so small, in his, so warm. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to it.
It was as difficult to be with her as it was to be away from her; and things weren’t getting any better. He had had time to think about it, compare how different everything was now from what it had been before he had lost his soul, and he had come to a rather grim realization. By altering the cursing spell, they had tried to make it impossible for him to lose his soul again – and he was still more than wary about that. But the alteration had had at least one other repercussion, one he didn’t dare let Buffy, or anyone else, know about. Never before had he felt the presence of his demon so strongly, never had the struggle between it and the soul been so difficult. He had come so close to succumbing to the First’s suggestions on Christmas. And he was still so scared of succumbing now.
That was why when they arrived at the mansion he gave Buffy a chaste kiss and sent her home, rather than ask her to spend the night with him, as he so wanted her to.
Unlike the previous summer, Spike wasn’t coming by to see her every night anymore, and Joyce knew that if he wasn’t there by a certain time it meant he wouldn’t be coming that night. It was alright. She still enjoyed their chats; but with Buffy back, she didn’t need to talk as often as she used to. She only hoped it was the same for him; that he was getting used to his soul.
He hadn’t come by for a few nights, now, ever since that dreadful evening when she had almost caused Buffy, him and these other two innocents of burning at the stakes. She was a little worried that she had scared him away indefinitely, but didn’t dare ask Buffy if he had mentioned anything. Not that she thought Buffy would react negatively -in fact, it was the exact opposite. While at first, her daughter had been opposed to her mother chatting with the vampire, now she was patrolling with him just about every night, if Joyce understood correctly.
Joyce wasn’t too sure what that meant. She thought her daughter had feelings for Angel – and she certainly was far from happy about that – but to see her become closer to another vampire was disquieting. She was quite sure that Buffy didn’t have those kinds of feelings for Spike, or vice-versa, but still. Maybe it was better if he wasn’t around so much anymore.
Despite her beginning of worry, she was pleased to hear the vampire finally knock on her back door one evening. Glad, because he talked about what happened on patrol more than Buffy did, and Joyce craved to know more about what was going on in her daughter’s life. If it meant she had to hear it from someone else, she could accept that.
He seemed strangely quiet, that night, as if he didn’t dare talk too much. She managed to coax out of him that they had fought a battle the previous night, but he repeatedly insisted that she had nothing to worry about. He was a little too insistent, and Joyce realized that he certainly wasn’t telling her everything. Maybe it was better that way.
It’s always weird to see these things described without Dawn in them. Always makes me want to stop everything and point out that no, that’s not how it happened; there’s a Bit-sized hole in the story. Then I remember. No, she wasn’t there. It’s all bloody confusing, that’s what it is. Could make a bloke insane – but I’ve had enough of that for a lifetime, I think.
Gotta admit I expected one of them would realize I had changed and wasn’t as gloomy and loony as I had been. Was somewhere between annoyed and relieved that no one picked up on it. Annoyed that they wouldn’t pay enough attention to me to notice what I felt was an enormous change; relieved because I still was sure they’d stake me as soon as they learned about my soulless status.
Once I got around to thinking about it, I saw that I couldn’t really fault them. When souled, I had kept my gloomiest moments private; and after I lost it, I did everything I could so that they wouldn’t notice.
The hardest thing was to decide what to do about feeding. After my LA escapade and tasting human blood again, getting back to animal’s pints was the last thing I wanted to do. Still, there wasn’t another choice. I had come back because I believed I might have an opening with the Slayer once she realized she wasn’t going anywhere with Angel, and feeding off humans, even without killing, would undoubtedly have ruined any chance I might have had.
I wasn’t happy about it, but I returned to pig’s blood. Improved my living conditions a bit with the cash I had stolen in LA by buying a microwave oven to warm my meals – and make them a little more palatable. Almost fried myself when I messed up with the cables to borrow electricity from the town, but it was worth it.
I can’t say it was easy. I can’t say I’ve never in these days looked at the curve of a neck, fantasized about sinking my fangs in it and revel in the blood I could see beating behind a pulse point. Still, I didn’t. Not because wanting human blood, wanting to feed and kill was wrong in itself. I am a demon and even if I have learnt to see humans as more than cattle, it doesn’t change the fact that killing is what I was reborn to do. It wasn’t wrong in itself, it was wrong in the eyes of these same people who had adopted me. Who had allowed me to belong to something, accepted me as I was. And yes, I am aware of the irony that they accepted me as I wasn’t anymore. As long as I kept acting as if I had a soul, it didn’t really matter, did it?
Maybe, they were my soul. Ain’t that bloody poetic.