It was almost dawn the following morning, when William, dressed in his new coat, picked his way through the wreckage of an ancient Victorian building. His footfalls echoed hollowly on creaking floorboards. Creeping things rustled in the dark fringe of shadows, under the cracked plaster and shattered staircase. As William neared the wall, he ran his hand almost lovingly over the faded paper on the walls.
William entered what appeared to have once been a lobby area or perhaps a grand hall. Heavy damask curtains hung in dank clumps over boarded up windows. In the center of the room, weak, watery sunlight dappled the debris. A ragged piece of heavy cloth trailed down from a skylight, further obscuring the pale luminescence.
At the far end of the room, there was a raised dais that might have once been a stage. The wrecked skeleton of a piano rested on its side, like he exposed bones of an excavated dinosaur.
William skirted the growing pools of sunlight. He came to rest near the place where the moldy strip of cloth trailed from the skylight to the floor.
“Looky here,” William said, turning toward the back wall of the room. “Angelus is brooding. Who’d have guess it?”
A barely perceptible movement betrayed Angel’s location. He crouched (or slumped?) in shadows at the base of the ruined stage.
William took a step in Angel’s direction. “Thought I might find you here,” he said.
“Had to see the old neighborhood, you know,” Angel said. “Your quaint row house burned, but the lake’s still there. This place, though... It’s really gone to hell.”
“What are you doing here?” William asked. He scanned the darkness, looking for Connor. The boy had to be around, somewhere.
“See, that’s supposed to be my question,” Angel said. He uttered a low, guttural groan, like an animal in pain.
William said nothing. He folded his arms behind his back. He remained intentionally close to the light.
Angel got slowly to his feet. He laughed, but it was a bitter, mirthless sound.
“How’d you manage it, Spike? How’d you beat me here? Cause I gotta say, I’m floored. And that’s saying a lot, given our particular history,” Angel said.
William shrugged. “Can’t say as I know,” he said, lightly.
“You know. You arranged a contingency. Behind our backs. You left us to die,” Angel said. Every word he spoke sounded pained.
“Bollocks,” William said. “You give me far too much credit.”
“If I’ve learned one thing, it’s that you get all the credit that’s due, Spike. You’ll do anything, stop at nothing... to ensure your own survival,” he said. Angel moved a few shuffling steps closer.
“It’s William now,” he said.
Angel laughed darkly. “Changing the name doesn’t change what’s inside,” he said.
“That right? Angelus?”
Angel moved among the shadows. William stood still, listening to every step.
“You ever ask yourself ‘why?” Angel said, still circling.
“Why?” William said.
“Why is it that we remain, while others fall aside? Why are they so fragile?”
William shrugged.
“Buffy understands it. The question. The reason. All of it. But do you?” Angel said.
“Better than you may think,” William answered.
“What I would really like to know is, why can’t we fall aside? Why are we not forgotten?”
William scoffed. “You are a sad creature, Angel. We are what we are because we dared to be what we are. We took power. Crushed the weak. We opened ourselves to forces we don’t understand. How can you not get that?”
Angel circled around to flank William, but kept his distance.
“This, from you, Spike. You would know. About taking,” Angel said.
“Get over yourself, Angel,” William answered. He turned his head to show Angel that he still marked his movements. “We’re bloody Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. It’s not about us. It’s about her.”
“The girl.”
“Hardly a girl, mate. You haven’t been ’round to notice, but she’s grown up a bit,” William said.
“It is about her. She’s why we fight. The embodiment of all that’s good...”
William made an impatient sound. “You got a point you’re heading to? I haven’t got all day,” he said.
Angel continued to move, slowly. Soon, he stood behind William, but William did not turn.
“We seem an odd choice to fight on the side of good. Two vampires with souls? How ironic is that?”
“Blessed irony. You do love to preach,” William said.
Angel lunged in from the opposite side, taking William a lot by surprise. Angel hit him once, a good jaw shot, but William pushed him back. Angel swung wide, a wildly careless blow, and William understood that Angel was more than merely injured. Whatever wound Angel carried, it was draining him down.
William went into defensive mode, returning to the shadows.
“I don’t know why those around us fall,” he said. He made his voice louder, more strident. He wanted Angel to see his strength. “It’s not up to us to decide when and how they go. Why do we keep coming back? I dunno. Don’t even bloody care. Guess we’re not through playing fate’s bitches.”
Angel jumped in again, but William dodged. Angel clutched at his arm and swung William toward the sunlight. William caught the edge of the curtain and dragged it down. He spun to regain his footing, but twisted around to stand in a pool of brilliant morning sun.
Angel’s hand shot out, gripped William’s throat. The skin seared and smoked.
William tilted his head to the side. “Guess the irony’s lost on me, mate.”
Angel made an anguished sound. He pulled his hand back and stared at the cross-shaped brand in his palm.
“I knew...” he growled. “I knew it. Winner takes all. The glory. The girl.”
William stepped forward. “Angel, you’re hurt. You...”
“You hi-jacked my prophecy!” Angel yelled.
“No. I didn’t,” William said, trying to soothe him. “I didn’t hi-jack anything. I’m not...”
“You’re human,” Angel said.
“I’m not,” William insisted. “Will you...”
“You’re standing in sunlight!” Angel said
Connor came into the scene at a dead run, making no attempt to hide his presence. He leapt at William. They scuffled wildly, tangling in the shredded curtain. Connor managed to bloody William’s nose before Angel pulled Connor back.
“You don’t know, do you?” Angel said. He leaned on Connor.
“Know? What?” William said, wiping gingerly at the blood on his nose.
“I signed it over. You ungrateful bast...” Angel fell silent. He craned his head sideways.
“What the?” Connor said.
They watched as the blood from William’s nose vanished into the skin.
“I’m not human,” William said. “Exactly. So unless that Shanshu hullabaloo includes a clause for invulnerability, I think you owe me an apology.”
Angel slid down from Connor’s shoulder and sat down heavily on the floor. He looked up at William, but shook his head in disbelief.
“You’re hurt,” William said again. “I’ll call Buffy. Willow’s out just now, but maybe Dawn or Andrew can help.”
“Does she know you’re here?” Angel asked.
“We both went out searching. I knew where to look,” William said. He looked around the room. “I like what you haven’t done with the place.”
Angel slumped forward. He covered his face with his hands.
William stepped aside to call Buffy. He gave her the address for the Royal London Hotel.
When William stepped back, Connor had knelt beside Angel.
“What happened to him?” he asked, quietly.
Connor stood up. “Mystical fire,” he said. “Took on a dragon.”
“Yeah,” William said. “That part I recall.”
“You don’t know how you got here,” Angel said.
“Can’t say as I do,” William said.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Spike steals a line from Joyce in this chapter. Also, there's new information regarding Angel and the Shanshu Prophecy.