Chapter 23: The Fine Line Between Love and Hate
During the ride to the hospital, Angel’s only answer to Steven’s questions was that it was all just an accident, and that he had nothing to be concerned about. However, when they arrived at the ER, when the doctors removed the bandages to reveal, as Steven had suspected, puncture marks, and when Angel finally admitted he had lost a lot of blood, there was just one question left in the teen’s mind. Who had bitten Angel and almost drained him? Spike or Buffy? It was Spike who had come ask for help, vamp face in full effect, anger coming from him in almost palpable waves. But Steven had a hard time believing the man could have done that, even if he was blinded by rage. On the other hand, Buffy seemed even less of an option.
As he was ushered out of the room his father was being treated in, a nurse asked Steven what exactly had happened. He considered her incredulously for a second. She had seen the marks, she had heard the words ‘massive blood loss’, she lived in LA, and still she needed to ask him what had happened?
“What do you think happened?” he snapped at her. “A vampire bit him. That’s what.”
She looked at him with what very much looked like condescendence, and it was all he could do not to slap her. She was the crazy one, not him, if she worked in the ER and had never put two and two together.
It was a couple of hours before Steven was allowed to see his father again. He was still pale, but he wasn’t drifting in and out of consciousness as he had been in the car. Again, he declined to explain what had happened, his refusal only fueling Steven’s anger. A few hours later, against medical advice and against his son’s wishes, Angel was checking himself out of the hospital.
The ride back to the Hyperion in the late afternoon was very quiet, but the silence was broken the second they set foot inside. Gunn and Fred rushed out of the office, babbling questions about their boss’ health. Steven ignored them, giving his attention instead to the charming lady who was rising from the sofa and coming to him. His anger faded a little when he saw her, and he managed to smile, until she broke into tears as they hugged.
“Dawn… honey… what’s wrong?”
He couldn’t believe she was that upset over Angel’s ‘accident’, he knew all too well that the only reason she tolerated the ex-vampire was because of his son.
“It’s Buffy”, she sobbed. “She lost her… her soul. And… and they can’t restore it.”
Steven didn’t need to look at his father to fit that piece into the puzzle and complete it, but he did anyway, just to see his reaction at the piece of news. He didn’t look terribly surprised, but all of a sudden he seemed ten years older.
“We’ll find a solution,” he whispered into his girlfriend’s hair. “She’ll be her old self in no time. And until then, you know she wouldn’t hurt you, she loves you too much.”
Dawn’s sobs only grew louder, and a terrible feeling took hold of Steven. Pushing her away from him a little, he lifted her hair and checked both sides of her neck, relieved not to find a scratch.
“She didn’t try to hurt you, did she?” he asked nonetheless.
Dawn shook her head. “It wasn’t her”, she assured him pitifully. “Without her soul, it’s not really…”
He didn’t wait for her to finish. Already, he was climbing the steps three by three, the stake he always carried now in his hand. Angel could pretend all he wanted that it had been an accident. He was a grown man, and didn’t need anyone to defend him. But Dawn, confronted by a vampire or by a Slayer, had no more chance than a kitten with a tiger. And he would be damned before he allowed anyone to touch her.
*****
Despite the drawn curtains, there was enough light in the bedroom for Spike to distinguish everything around him. His duster, and Buffy’s, resting on a chair by the door, the overnight bag on top of the dresser, the bed where he was sitting with his back to the headboard, the body of his Childe pressed to his, her head on his chest as she slept, her hand clutching the fabric of his shirt, her jean clad leg thrown over his. Possessive, even in her sleep.
They hadn’t talked much since the events of the morning. They had waited, at first, for her soul to return. She was silent, then, mostly sulking that he had sentenced her to regain her soul, and seemingly a little worried that he had shut her out. He was silent too, her words still echoing in his mind. He had had to ask, hadn’t he? Why leave the matter alone when he could get himself hurt some more. Eventually, she had forced him to look at her, had professed her love for him, offered her neck to his lips. They had drunk from each other’s throats, reaffirming that they were Sire, Childe, Mates. But the knowledge that it was ultimately Angel’s blood that he was taking from her had made the sharing strangely bitter to Spike.
The two hours promised by Red had passed, but Buffy had denied feeling any different. Two more hours, during which Spike had felt a bad feeling slowly rise in him as he watched Buffy become increasingly hopeful, and there had been a knock on the door. He had opened it to Gunn, who had delivered the grim news that a frantic Willow had called and said that she had tried the spell twice, but it didn’t seem to be working. When he had closed the door and turned to Buffy, she had been grinning at him, and asked very candidly if he would take her hunting that night. At that point, he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. They had to get back to Sunnydale, he told her, and she seemed to accept it as an answer.
They had made love then. No… No, not made love. They had fucked. For him, it had been as rough and devoid of emotions as their affair between Buffy’s return to life and her turning. Hearing her say again that she loved him had frozen him to his bones. And yet, he knew she meant it. She loved him, as much as her demon was allowing her to. It should have been the same to him, he should have been glad that this much at least subsisted of his Slayer. But compared to his Buffy’s smoldering love, he couldn’t help feeling that this one’s had all the warmth of a dying candle. Nonetheless, it was better than nothing, and he would take crumbs if that was all he could get.
And then they had waited again. For night to fall, for the sun to disappear and allow them to get on the move. It was still a couple of hours away when the door burst open, revealing a fuming young man who held a stake in his right hand. Spike could tell immediately that Buffy had awoken, although she hadn’t moved one inch. There was just a sudden sense of readiness to her, like a predator waiting for the right time to pounce.
“He is family too,” Spike whispered to her as the kid walked in, stroking her back soothingly, satisfied when she nodded imperceptibly against him.
Again, Steven took a step closer, and Spike stopped worrying for him, to worry instead about his intentions.
“You do understand that you will have to dust me before you can get to her, right?” he asked calmly, although he made no movement whatsoever to support his claim.
“She is dangerous and needs to be put down”, Steven spat icily. “You know it’s not Buffy anymore. How many times did you tell me that Angel and Angelus were two different persons?”
To hear someone else voice his deepest fear seemed somehow to make it more real and he held Buffy a bit tighter. He wouldn’t give up on her.
“It’s different. I can control her. She won’t kill anyone.”
Her body tensed against him, and he mentally begged her not to say a word, not now. As much as he hated it, he was relieved to see Angel appear behind his son and rest a hand on his shoulder.
“That’s enough, Steven,” he said tiredly. “You’d better go check on Dawn before she cries herself to dust.”
“But she…”
“I said that’s enough.”
The kid seemed startled by his father’s growl, and he cast a defying glance at him, then at the couple on the bed, before leaving the room, obviously furious. For a couple of minutes that seemed to stretch forever, Angel just stared at the two blondes blankly, and Spike could only wonder what was going through his mind. He had heard Buffy proclaim that Angel wanted to be vampire again, had heard her tell him he could have both of them if he was. Had he really wanted it, even for a fraction of second? Had he been tempted? Was he now?
“Spike, can I talk to you? Outside?”
There was nothing in the calm again voice that hinted at what Angel felt, or what he wanted to talk about. Truth be told, Spike still had no wish to talk to him, but it seemed unavoidable now. Gently, he moved out of Buffy’s embrace, giving her a quick kiss, a little curious as to why she was so silent now that her almost victim had returned.
“I’ll be right back, luv,” he assured her as he closed the door behind himself and leaned against it. It was just a game, really, she was going to hear everything they said as clearly as if they had remained in the room.
“Her soul?” Angel questioned softly, leaning against the wall across the hallway.
Spike only nodded.
“How?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. You’re the soul expert.”
“Willow?”
“Tried twice. No result. No clue why.”
Hearing himself talk about the situation in such a quiet, calm tone almost made Spike want to heave. Inside, he was screaming.
“What are you going to do?”
That was the million dollar question, really. He knew what the vampire behind that door wanted. He also knew what his Slayer would have wanted. And he knew what he ought to do.
“Go back to Sunnydale. Find out what happened. Fix it.”
“Can I do anything to help?”
Spike’s quiet voice became almost a hiss. “Yes. Stay away from us.”
“It’s not my fault,” Angel said with mild anger.
“Who said it was?”
“By the way you act, that’s what it seems like. I am the victim here, not the aggressor.”
Despite himself, Spike laughed, but he knew his eyes were slowly filling out with gold.
“Yeah, the victim. The woman you admitted to love offers you immortality and access to our bed, and you consider yourself the victim. Ain’t love grand…”
Angel moved from his spot against the wall, coming only a step in front of Spike. His fists were tightly closed, and had he been a vampire still he might have vamped out already.
“Don’t play that game, Childe. You knew, even before you loved her, what there was between Buffy and me. You knew even before us we would never be friends. You said so yourself. Said it would kill us bo…”
Spike’s hand catching Angel’s neck stopped the tirade. He had been drunk, that night, but he remembered quite well.
“You have no idea how close I am to just crushing your throat,” he said coldly.
“And then what?” Angel managed to croak, not defending himself in any way. “Will you kill Steven when he tries to avenge me? And Dawn when she wants to avenge him? And Gunn and Fred when they try to stop you? All that because I happen to love the same woman as you?”
“No. Because she still loves you.”
The door creaked open, and Buffy stepped right behind Spike, her body pressed against his back.
“It’s you I love,” she whispered against his ear.
His still outstretched arm shook, and he finally released Angel, pushing him away in the process.
“I hate you”, he spat at the human as he rubbed his throat.
“The feelings are mutual, William,” Angel replied calmly before walking away.
Spike watched him go until he had disappeared down the hall, then allowed Buffy to pull him back into their room.